


Written in the Stars

by Winterotter



Series: Names in a Tattoo or a Number to Wash Away [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Battle of Galidraan Happens Differently, But is not a Good Mentor, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fix-It, Gen, Jaster Mereel Lives, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master Dooku (Star Wars), M/M, Protective Jango Fett, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Qui-Gon Jinn is a Good Jedi Master, The real fix it events happen in part 2, but it starts here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29277171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterotter/pseuds/Winterotter
Summary: Jango's past comes back to haunt him. Ending up with a date with a Jedi, with Obi-Wan Kenobi, was the last thing he'd thought would come of it.
Relationships: Dooku & Jaster Mereel, Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Jango Fett & Myles the Mandalorian, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Quinlan Vos, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Names in a Tattoo or a Number to Wash Away [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186511
Comments: 89
Kudos: 501





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for all the Mando'a used are in the endnotes, but most of them should be clarified contextually in the text. As is what makes this an AU.

* * *

It had to be the kriffing _jetii_.

Of all the people for Jango to run into today—coronation day, of all days—he should have known he'd be the one to end up dealing with the Jedi. It was the absolute last thing anyone should trust him with. And yet.

"That way," he said harshly, guiding Kenobi through the hall and into the nearest unoccupied room, an unused meeting area, and waved the door shut behind them. "Who gave you permission to be in this wing," he growled, jabbing Kenobi in the center of his chest where his ridiculous tabards lay across his tunics.

"Oh, I may have gotten a bit lost," Kenobi said. "The compound is rather large, and the halls all look the same."

"Bantha shit," Jango said through a clenched jaw. It was a struggle to keep his voice quiet, but a necessary one. He'd chop off his own hand before he ruined this day for Jaster. He just had to remind himself of that. No one, not Myles at his most annoying, or Jaster at his most protective—no one got under his skin like Obi-Wan Kenobi could. "You were supposed to stay with Dooku. All you had to do was stay with him, look serene, and not cause a diplomatic incident."

"I'm hardly causing a diplomatic incident. I was just taking a—"

"A walk. Yeah, because all the Mandos here with twitchy trigger fingers will buy that. This whole thing is a powder keg waiting to go off, Kenobi, I _know_ you know that. Fucking hell, you're the one who's been holding it all together with pure stubbornness, so why—"

"Fett," Kenobi said, stepping closer, gaze steady and his expression open. Inviting trust. "I won't do anything to jeopardize your father's rule."

"Then why," Jango ground out. "Aren't you where you're supposed to be? I swear, you better use your freaky force powers to sneak back unseen, and do what you're _supposed to be doing,_ or so help me, I will—"

"Force, take a breath before you give yourself a coronary. Do you truly think I would do anything to put your family, your people, at risk? That I would let anything keep today from going off without a hitch. I'm here to celebrate Jaster's coronation and see the treaty finalized, not whatever nefarious thing you've decided I'm up to."

"You're here because my buir, my father, is too sentimental by half. We could have negotiated the deal without your help."

"I know Mando'a, no need to translate for my sake. And perhaps you could have, but can you say would have reached as favorable of terms without us acting as a neutral party? Please, Jango, trust me. I only want to help."

Jango was the one to step closer this time, his hands balled in fists. Kenobi's eyes narrowed. "Your kind offers no help that I want, you—"

"Jango?" The door slip open, and Jaster appeared. Jango's hands relaxed and he reached over to clap Kenobi on the shoulder. If he put a bit more weight, a bit more force into it, then was strictly friendly, well. Only he and Kenobi would know. "There you are," Jaster was saying. "People are starting to settle in the great hall. We're supposed to be going soon, and I would appreciate your company. I. . . I never thought I'd see this day."

"It's going to be fine," Kenobi said. " _You're_ going to be fine. Your people couldn't ask for a more fair and just Mand'alor. And all you have to do today is stand by your throne, swear an oath I know you have memorized, and look inspiring."

"Easier said than done."

'Well, I have been told by a reliable source that all I have to do is stand and look serene. We're in similar positions. Everything is going to be fine, the Force is with us," Kenobi said, slipping away from Jango and easing out the door past Jaster. He stopped just outside it, his back to them. "I'll make sure everything is fine. I swear it."

Then he was gone, with no need for a reply, apparently.

"Jango? Everything alright?"

"Yeah," he said, taking a moment to compose himself. He should probably say something comforting, reassuring, though _what_ he should say wouldn't come to him. He'd never known how to do this kind of thing, had never had the right words. Being nervous now was ridiculous anyway, Jaster had been leading their people as long as Jango had known him, it was just more official now. But, there was no denying that Jaster looked paler than normal, that the lines of his face were more apparent. "Yeah, everything is fine. Kenobi and I were just. . . discussing some security measures. That's all. Everything. . . is gonna be fine."

Jaster was looking at him, skeptical and a bit amused. "You sound just like Knight Kenobi."

"I know." Jango grimaced, playing it up a bit when Jaster huffed a laugh. This, this he could do. "Remind me again why we didn't send the Jedi away after negotiations were done?"

"That would be rude. And, they played a large part in this, they deserve to see it come to fruition."

"If you say so."

"Jango, I've been meaning to say. . . thank you. I know. . . I know you're not happy with their presence. So thank you for. . . putting up with it. For everything you've done to get us to today."

Jango was fidgeting with his vambraces, unused to wearing so little armor, and stopped. He hadn't been prepared for that. To be thanked. For, for doing his job, for supporting Jaster. As if there had ever been a scenario where he wouldn't. Sometimes there were moments when the depth of his inability to properly communicate became obvious, like being on one side of a ravine, knowing all you have to do is reach for whoever is on the other side, but not knowing how. Choosing, instead, to stare down into the endless abyss, out of stubbornness and pride. He rolled his shoulders back, letting the shame slide off, as much as was possible.

"Buir," he said. "Please, don't. I am willing to do anything to see this through. You're my buir, and my Mand'alor. I don't need thanks for. . . for helping you. I hope you know that. The. . . concerns I raised in the beginning, I still think those were apt. But I trust you, and you trust them." He fell silent, unable to help but remember the last, and worst, argument they'd had about the Jetii. _This isn't Galidraan,_ he'd shouted. _This isn't teaming up to fight a common enemy, this is tying us to them publicly. This is bringing them into our internal politics. You put us all at risk, you're putting all of our people at risk, because of some misplaced sense of loyalty—_

_It's not misplaced! I'm alive today because they stopped and listened. You're here today, because of them—and that's a debt you hate having. That's why you hate them. That and a prejudice we've seen isn't fair. You can't hold actions from the past against the present, Jango. I raised you better than that._

Jaster must be remembering the same argument because his face was stormy, his eyes pained, and that wasn't what Jango wanted. Not ever, but especially not today, of all days. Today should be perfect, Jango wanted it to be perfect for him. And it wasn't the Jedi who were ruining it, it was him. Because he didn't know the right thing to say. If there even was a right thing to say. Maybe that was it, he realized. Maybe he couldn't find the words, because words weren't actually what was needed. So he crossed the room and did the only thing he knew Jaster would always welcome from him, which was to pull the man—his buir, his Mand'alor, and he should be used to that, but he wasn't—into his arms, and hug him tight.

"I love you," he managed to say, through the vice around his throat. "I hope you know that."

The vice on his throat had nothing on the grip of Jaster's arms around him. "Ner ad'ika," Jaster said, his voice strange. "There was no doubt. _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_. I love you too."

Jango couldn't make himself let go. There was so much more he should say, so much more he owed it to Jaster to say— _I love you, I need you, you saved me, there's no galaxy where I don't support you in everything you do, I'd die for you and our people, I would do anything_ —all things he should say, but couldn't, and some things that Jaster would maybe not want to hear. He had no illusions that Jaster would want him to die for him.

All he could do was hold him tighter.

* * *

Dawn was lightening the sky by the time the party started to truly die down. The band had given it up hours ago, leaving those left to fill the silence with chatter and drunken singing and laughter. Jango was still weaving through the tables, gripping arms, exchanging hugs, drinking with those who could get him to stay in one spot long enough. His smile became more and more fixed in place as the night wore on, but he'd been in worse situations, he could do this until morning if he had to. He might have to. Some of them, mostly his own men and their friends, seemed determined to see the sun fully rise. Part of him was pleased to see them that determined to celebrate Jaster. The rest of him longed to be in his bed.

The enormous courtyard was covered in hastily set-up tables and white tents, lights strung up between them, the trees, and the surrounding buildings. The entire area glowed warm and gold, the pink of the sky just beginning to mingle in. Jaster had long since retired, most of the elders and younglings had, but the party had just picked up speed afterward. The additional barrels of tihaar Myles had dragged out might have had something to do with that.

He downed his glass, depositing it on the banquet table, replacing it with a fresh one. He sipped on it slowly.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was sitting on the lone bench, under one of the bigger trees, probably watching the sunrise. The sky was growing lighter by the moment, and Kenobi's gaze was fixed on the horizon. Jango eased down beside him, cradling his drink against his chest. The cool glass felt good through his thin shirt, the last day and night on his feet catching up to him.

"Everything _was_ fine," Kenobi said.

"Went off without a hitch."

Kenobi turned to look at him. "You don't like me."

"No."

"May I ask why? I mean, call it curiosity, but I can't stop wondering. Is it just because I'm a Jedi? Or is it something about me, personally?"

Jango huffed and watched the table nearest them. They were fairly drunk, more than they usually allowed themselves to be, propping each other up, and passing around more alcohol. The point where he'd have to step in and cut them off was approaching. "Both, then, I suppose," Kenobi was saying. "That's unfortunate. I had hoped. . ."

"What?"

"I had hoped we might be friends. If only for Jaster and Master Dooku's sake."

"Right," Jango said. "And what would the basis of our _friendship_ be? Besides them, we have nothing in common. Unless you want to talk about the scars around your wrists and throat."

Kenobi went quiet. It had been half deduction, half guess. Scars like those, on someone who should have had ready access to healing and bacta, could only come from a few things. Very few. He hadn't been sure until he said it out loud, until he watched his guess hit home. Kenobi's face was as still and blank as he'd ever seen it. "If you want to talk about yours," was all he said.

"How long," Jango said quietly. He was grateful then, for how noisy the nearby table was. There was no chance of anyone overhearing this conversation. It was for them alone, just the two of them.

"About two years, altogether," he said. "Maybe three years. I didn't. . . it wasn't all at once. And you?"

"A year. It took a year for Jaster and Dooku to find me," Jango said, and he caught Kenobi's startled look before his face went still again.

"Well, former-slave is another thing you can add to your dossier on me, next to everything else you got from the temple. I know it was your men who sliced in and accessed our files."

Jango rubbed his thumb on the side of his glass. He recognized the salvo for what it was—an attempt to rile him up, to tease him back into their habitual bickering, maybe. To distract him from their current line of conversation, definitely. "Interesting isn't it," he said. "That it was missing from your otherwise detailed history. As if your Order was ashamed of something."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. It all depends on your point of view." Across the courtyard from them, an argument was becoming heated. Two men, one dressed as the New Mandalorians tended to, one Jango recognized as Myles' second-in-command. Mandalorians with opposing ideals and copious amounts of alcohol—what could possibly go wrong there.

Jango shrugged. He rose and knocked back what was in his glass. He was about to move to break up the argument when he caught sight of Myles reaching them. Well, then. He sat back down and set his empty glass in the grass. "I guess we get to continue our conversation," he said. "How did you end up enslaved more than once?"

Kenobi sighed, and Jango had no doubt he'd understood the byplay going on. His sigh was probably at least half due to the near but failed, escape. "Each time is a very long story. I will say, we have something else in common."

"What's that?"

"The last time? It was Jaster and Master Dooku who rescued me, too."

"Was it."

"Yes," Kenobi said. "They were looking for you. It was chance, or perhaps the Force, that had them find me first. My grandmaster. . . he's different now. Better. Because of your father."

Jango shifted, taking his turn to look over. But Kenobi wasn't facing him anymore, his gaze fixed on the sky above. There was something to the set of his jaw, to the look in his eyes, that was unreadable. That Jango couldn't name.

"He. . . it was as if he cared, suddenly," Kenobi was saying. His voice sounded tentative, unsure. "He didn't before. My master kept us apart, and Dooku let him. Until he met Jaster."

Jango shut his eyes briefly. "He has that effect on people. He makes everyone want. . . to be better."

"One of the many reasons he’ll be a good ruler.”

“Yeah. You’re pretty convinced of that,” Jango said. He turned his attention back to the pair that had been arguing. Myles had managed to defuse it some, no fists had been thrown, but they were still going at it. He might still need to help. Myles was beginning to look a bit desperate, his hands spread plaintively in front of him. 

"Mm. I am. I wouldn't have fought so hard to cement this treaty if I wasn't convinced."

Jango nodded. He stood for a second time, carefully juggling his empty glass. His balance shifted a bit, his head spinning for a moment, the alcohol leaving him unsteady, before settling. He took a deep breath. 

“Good to know. Thanks for, you know, doing what you’re supposed to, tonight,” he said, and extended his hand.

Slowly, Kenobi reached out, grasping his arm. “Of course,” he said. And his face had gone unreadable again. 

For a moment they were silent and still. Just grasping each other's arm, and watching. 

“I sensed Jaster’s nerves,” Kenobi said, finally. “From across the compound. I just wanted to help. In case you were still wondering.”

Jango shut his eyes again, just for a moment, his grip on Kenobi tightening. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Good to know.”

“You’re needed over there.”

“Yeah.”

“Go, then. Perhaps we can talk more tomorrow.”

Jango let go of him and strode across the courtyard towards the raised voices that were only getting louder. The party couldn’t end soon enough.

* * *

Obi-Wan slept in the next day. It had been a long night, and he’d spent almost the entirety of it on guard. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Grandmaster Dooku was always advising him to relax a bit. But it wasn’t that—he knew how to relax. It was just, last night hadn’t been the time for it. Something had been whispering to him throughout the coronation and party, something had told him that something important was going to happen. He hadn't quite had a bad feeling about it, just a feeling that _something_ was happening.

All of which was to say, that by the time the next day came around, he was exhausted from being on high alert. And behind on his reports, and he'd missed at least one scheduled check-in. By the time he ventured out of his bedroom, he was so behind and late that nothing would get him caught up. He was sure he'd be spending the day apologizing, and rushing to ensure he'd be caught up for the next day, at least. Until Dooku appeared and side-tracked him thoroughly.

"Grandpadawan," Dooku said, sticking his head into the sitting room of the suite they'd been assigned.

"Good morning," he said. "Or, good afternoon?"

"Afternoon," Dooku said, with a disapproving frown. "Have you checked your comm?"

"My comm?" he asked, still disoriented and bleary from the night before. Maybe he should have tried to sleep a few hours more. "What about my comm?"

Dooku sighed, loudly. "Check your messages. Jaster said you should have something from his son. We can't afford to spurn any attempt at friendship. Particularly from him," and he strode through the suite and disappeared into Obi-Wan's bedroom without any request for permission or invitation.

He was back a moment later with Obi-Wan's commlink, which he tossed at him. Obi-Wan fumbled to catch it. "Listen to the message, agree to whatever it is. Jaster won't be Mand'alor forever, it's crucial we continue diplomatic ties past him," Dooku said, and he strode from the room before Obi-Wan could get a word in edgewise, the door sliding shut behind him.

"Okay," Obi-Wan said, to himself. He squinted at his commlink, tapping at it until he found his unread messages. One was from a number he didn't recognize. He selected it and discovered a text message enclosed, no audio or visual.

"Hm," he said, with a smile. The message was short, and to the point. As he would expect from Jango Fett.

 _Kenobi,_ it said.

_Join me for dinner and, if you're up for it, a fight._

_I'll pick you up this evening. Arm yourself with something other than your lightsaber._

_Jango_

He sat there and looked at the message for a moment, considering.

So, a peace offering. A peace offering, that offered a chance to spar, to work out any aggression between them in an acceptable way that wouldn't have any repercussions for either of them. The offer of dinner as well, was a deft touch, one that indicated this may be about more than just keeping the peace between their two peoples.

It was a way of offering an uneasy truce. Maybe a way of ensuring that Obi-Wan wouldn't hold a grudge over anything they'd argued about yesterday. Maybe, it was an apology for disliking Obi-Wan just because of his origins, because of the culture he'd been raised in. At the bare minimum, it was a way to bury the hatchet between them and start fresh—maybe, maybe, if Obi-Wan was lucky, it could be the beginning of a friendship between them. Maybe, Jango wanted to know him better, maybe he was as interested in him, as he was in Jango.

He was almost never that lucky.

He considered the message.

It could go wrong, he could be wrong about the intent behind it.

He was almost definitely reading too much into it.

Most likely, Jaster was pressuring Jango to make nice. And that's all there was to it. That was the most likely explanation.

He ran the odds in his head, and he was still sure he had to be wrong. Odds were, he was. Odds were, this was all Jaster.

And yet. . .

And yet, the Force was whispering to him, and he found himself sure that he was right to hope this was more than just an obligation. That Jango, not Jaster, was behind this gesture, that he was the one who wanted to make a peace offering.

He tapped Jango's contact on his comm, and initiated an audio call. Jango answered before he could doubt his decision.

"Yeah, what," he said. It was an annoyed tone of voice, a downright rude way to answer a call. Obi-Wan was undaunted.

"So this dinner," he drawled. "I'd very much like to attend. But I was just wondering, would it, by chance, just be the two of us?"

The other end of the call was silent, and it lasted so long that Obi-Wan began to think that Jango wasn't going to answer. That he was going to end the call without saying a word past his greeting. "Maybe," he said, after a moment. "If that's something you would want."

"I would, in fact, want that. I'd like to get to know you better, Jango Fett."

"Good. You better be prepared to get in the ring then. There's no better way to get familiar with each other. I'll pick you up. Around 6."

"Alright, sounds good," Obi-Wan said, and then he heard a click and realized Jango had hung up already. Which, well, was just like him. "So uncivilized," he muttered. Once again, speaking to himself.

He looked back at the text message, and considered all the things that it could mean. All the things that could be read between the lines. Then, he slipped his commlink into his pocket and smiled. Odds were, he was still wrong. Odds were, Jango was being forced to make nice, and had no true desire to get to know him. But he was, to the core, a Jedi. If the Force insisted Jango was reaching out because he wanted to? Obi-Wan believed it.

He reached for his robe, and it flew to his hand. He shrugged into it and headed out to find Dooku, whistling an aimless tune as he did.

There were hours, still, till dinner. He had plenty of things to do to keep him busy between now and then.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have :) 
> 
> AU worldscape: Korda-6 and Galidraan happen differently. Jaster and Dooku become friends/bond over being manipulated by Death Watch, and work together to take it down. This leads to a future where Mandalore and the Jedi work together, and where everyone involved ends up better off. 
> 
> Translations/phrases:  
> Kriffing - a derogatory modifier based on the word kriff. Similar to 'fucking'  
> Jetii - Jedi  
> Bantha shit - bull shit  
> Mando'a - Mandalorian Language  
> Buir - parent  
> Mand'alor - ruler/king of Mandalore  
> Ner ad'ika - my child, my son/daughter  
> Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you  
> Tihaar - an alcoholic drink; a strong, clear spirit made from fruit


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for all the Mando'a used are in the endnotes, but most of them should be clarified contextually in the text.

* * *

He wasn't surprised to receive a message changing their plans. He wasn't. It was perfectly understandable that something had come up, and that it would be easier to meet at the restaurant, there would be a good reason for it—or so Obi-Wan told himself.

The place wasn't large or crowded, it was the sort of place that only locals knew about, the kind that existed off of its regulars. He'd wandered past it twice before realizing it was the restaurant Jango had given him directions for. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall eatery. One where they insisted on seating you, but otherwise served you casually.

He made sure to get there early, because he couldn't help it. Too many years of being told that being on time, was being late. One benefit was being able to ask for a booth in the corner, away from people, where they could both have their back to a wall and a view of the restaurant. Where he could relax, where Jango could relax.

He dithered over ordering a drink while he waited, unable to decide whether it would be uncouth to start drinking before Jango arrived. It probably would be. In the end, he ordered a glass of water and settled in to wait.

It wasn’t long before the waiter took pity on him and brought over a basket of bread. He nibbled on a piece. But his mouth was dry and his stomach full of nerves, and the bread only made it worse. His waiter was leaning against the bar, talking to the customer there, and every now and then glancing his way. Each look from him got increasingly sympathetic.

Jango had pushed dinner to seven, and it was now ten minutes past that. He’d gotten here early, so in all, he’d been sitting here alone for about half an hour. If Jango didn’t arrive soon, he had a feeling his waiter would be back over with a strong drink and a commiserating smile. It would not, unfortunately, be the first time someone had stood him up.

Something must have happened. Some emergency that required Jango’s direct presence. The treaty between the True Mandalorians and New Mandalorians was so new the ink was still drying, something could have come up.

Or nothing had happened. Nothing had happened, save for Jango changing his mind about getting dinner with him. The worst part was, it was entirely plausible. Frustratingly plausible. Jango hadn’t been subtle about his thoughts on Jedi and it wasn’t much of a stretch to put him in the camp of people who believed they had no feelings. That there was nothing to hurt by not showing up. Or worse, Jango could just not care. With each passing moment, his theory went from plausible to likely to a sure thing.

Just as he resigned himself to being stood up, the door opened and the movement of who entered caught his attention. Mandalorians, as a rule, moved differently from other people. Partly due to their training, partly due to their armor. And Jango moved like no other being Obi-Wan had met. If asked, he'd describe it as a predatory prowl. Slow, but purposefully so, with no movement wasted.

Obi-Wan realized he was staring, and had been since Jango entered the restaurant. He refused to look away though. They were meeting for dinner. For what he hoped was a date. Surely, he was allowed to look, at least.

"So you found the place," Jango said, after the waiter showed him to the table. He was wearing full beskar'gam, and he detoured to the small rack nearby to deposit his buy'ce and gloves. The only sign that he may have dressed up a bit, was the shine of his armor. Obi-Wan couldn't tell if it was recent.

Probably, it wasn't.

"I. . . yes. It took a bit, but I found it."

"Have you ordered?"

"No, I was waiting on you." _I was about to, if only so the waiter wouldn't look so sympathetic_ , he almost said, because it was true. He had thought Jango wasn't going to show. _You look good_ , he wanted to say as Jango sat down. Because that was also true. Dark curls and skin glowing under the intimate lighting, worn but well cared for armor. Jango made an intriguing picture. In comparison, he was nothing so interesting. His robes put together with a meticulous eye, his beard freshly trimmed, but then, there was no saying Jango liked either of those things. Force, he probably hated the robes.

"I thought I wasn't going to make it," Jango said. "Before I was intolerably late, I mean. I was close to comm'ing to reschedule."

"Can I ask what happened?"

"Got some surprise visitors. Ones that warranted a formal welcome and Jaster was busy in a council meeting. I'm sure you'll hear about it later."

He could see the tightness around Jango's eyes, the way his jaw was clenched, and wondered if the residual irritation he could feel was due to the visitors or something else. "Everything's okay, then?"

"Yeah. Met them, did the usual meet and greet, and then let Myles take over getting them settled. It'll be a headache for later, but I'd rather not worry about it now."

"Ah, well. I'm sure we could find something to talk about that will take your mind off it."

"I'm counting on it. Are you good to eat before sparring?" He gestured around the restaurant.

"I would hope so, otherwise we'd have wasted our poor waiter's time."

"Nah, the ring is in the courtyard out back. We wouldn't be the only ones to go spar and then come back."

"I see. Do you do this often?"

Jango grabbed a roll and began ripping it to pieces. "Which part?"

"All of it?"

"I don't often eat with jetii, if that's what you're getting at. As for the rest? Yeah, I'm what you could call a frequent visitor here."

"Well, you're eating with one now," Obi-Wan said lightly, and Jango looked up.

"So I am."

"Don't sound too excited."

"I never sound excited, sorry to disappoint. Tiingilar? They serve the best stew in town here."

"Excepting your own recipes, of course."

"Of course. Jaster would have my hide if I even implied otherwise."

Obi-Wan couldn't help but laugh. "My grandmaster's the same way about serving tea. He's very exacting. I must admit he makes the best Deychin I've ever had the good fortune to try."

"Never had it." Jango shrugged, leaning back in his chair slightly. "Caff is a hot commodity around home though. Just this morning, Myles finished off the pot, and being the di'kut he is, he forgot to brew another. I thought there was going to be a riot."

"Very idiotic of him. I don't much like caff, and I know better than to do that."

"Exactly. It's half the reason he's been put in charge of seeing to our visitor's needs. They're shaping up to be a pain in the shebs."

Obi-Wan's laugh resolved into a smile. "Force, sounds like diplomat duty. It's a punishment for Jedi too. Dangerous, leaving someone like Myles with that job, surely you know that."

"He'll be fine for a night." And Obi-Wan watched as the irritated lines on Jango's face eased away for the first time since he showed up. "Jaster will be available to see what they want tomorrow, and he'll delegate from there. I thought we weren't talking about it tonight."

He looked up, and met Obi-Wan's gaze—and Jango's eyes were lit with gold against the silver and grey he was wearing—and something in his gut clenched and turned over.

He had a crazy impulse to slip out for a moment of fresh air and call Dooku. Or maybe Quinlan. To talk to anyone who could help make sense of this. _I think I've got a crush on a True Mandalorian, and not any Mando, oh no, I decided to develop a thing for the Mand'alor's son and likely successor._ Dooku would sigh and shake his head. Quinlan, on the other hand, would laugh himself sick.

Jango was watching him. "Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere. I'm right here." He was saved from any further questions by the waiter coming over to the table. Jango continued to watch him, apparently still intent on an answer, so Obi-Wan turned to the waiter.

“Cuyir gar tsikala at ke'gyce?" The waiter asked, and the way he said it implied he fully expected to have to repeat himself for Obi-Wan in basic.

"Elek. . . Tiingilar bal Tihaar. Par mhi bintar. Gedet'ye."

The waiter smiled at Obi-Wan's proficient use of Mando'a, and brightened considerably in the Force. It was much better than the vague pity he'd been picking up before.

"Ori'jate," the waiter said with a smile verging on a grin, and then he strode off towards the kitchen. Obi-Wan finally looked back at Jango, meeting his gaze across the table.

"You do speak Mando'a."

"Yes. Did you think I was lying?"

"Overestimating, maybe. You'd be surprised how many people think that because they can say the resol'nare and adoption vows that they know enough of the language."

"I suppose for some that would be enough to get by."

Jango's small smile was rueful and maybe a little sad. He was beginning to figure out how to read Jango Fett and it was not unlike how he approached learning a new language. Noting patterns, and their context, and waiting to see if a theory was correct. "Well," Jango said. "Some stereotypes do run true. As I'm sure you can also attest about your own kind."

"Depends," Obi-Wan said. "On the stereotype you mean, of course. Warrior monks with a tendency to get into trouble, sure, I can think of several that fit that description. Unfeeling, child stealers, though? I don't know a one."

"You do take children."

"Most are given to us, voluntarily."

"But not all, and—"

"Of course," Obi-Wan said. "Of course, not all of them. Not the ones we take from families who are hurting them. Whose parents are scared of their powers, and think they can starve or beat it out of them. My finder barely managed to keep my mother from drowning me in a river. I wasn't even a year old. My best friend? His parents loved him, but they were superstitious. They thought if they locked him in a tiny room with barely any food and no light he'd stop picking up memories from objects and having fits. They thought they were doing it for his own good. And so we took him. And they took me, and others like us. So yes, you're right to be concerned. You're just concerned about the wrong part."

Jango dropped his eyes. His face was drained of color, his lips pressed into a thin line. The waiter returned with their food and drinks, and served it in silence, picking up on the mood, he guessed. The easy smiles and bright countenance from before gone. Obi-Wan draped his napkin across his lap, and he acknowledged his fury—and released it to the Force. He breathed in. And out.

"I'm sorry," Jango said. "I didn't know. You must understand, treating ade like that, even jetii ones, is. . . it would never even occur to me that it could happen. It should _not happen_. Children are too precious to treat like that. _Children are the future._ I am. . . sorry. For whatever it's worth to you."

He laid a hand on the table, palm up. For a moment, Obi-Wan stared at it before he recognized it for the offering it was. It occurred to him that he could pretend to not understand, to begin eating, and hide behind polite small talk. Jango would go along with that. Instead, he reached out to grip Jango's wrist, gentle and a bit tentative. "It's worth quite a bit," he said.

"Good." Jango's hand wrapped around his wrist in return.

"Can we—can we just have dinner? Can we have dinner and pretend I didn't lose my temper like that?"

"I think I rather like you angry."

"You would."

Obi-Wan fiddled with his spoon, tapping it against the dark table cloth, dark enough to hide bloodstains. Hopefully by coincidence, not design. Their bowls of stew sat in front of them, untouched. “Jango,” he said. “I don’t understand. If you think. . . if Jedi are so monstrous to you. . . Why invite me to dinner?”

“Jaster,” Jango said. “He thought it would be a good learning experience, he’s interfering like that.”

It occurred to Obi-Wan why this was an experience Jango might benefit from, but he kept that to himself. Besides, focusing on that was him avoiding the implication of Jango’s answer. _Jaster_ , was behind the dinner invite. Not Jango. That was a blow, but one he’d been prepared for. He'd known the better odds were on this not being a date. He had no right to be disappointed. He squeezed Jango’s wrist and extracted his hand. “Alright,” he murmured. “Thank you for giving it a chance, I suppose.”

“Well. I do want to spar with you. We’ve seen Dooku fight, but you’re still an unknown quantity.”

"I'll endeavor not to disappoint," Obi-Wan said with a forced grin, "though, I feel I should warn you that I'm only a couple of years into my knighthood. And no match for my grandmaster's skill with a blade. He's considered one of our best."

"Who said we'll be using blades?"

"Ah, well then. If I said I don't have much training in hand-to-hand?"

"You're joking. Right?"

Obi-Wan threw his head back and laughed. It was just, Jango sounded so horrified by the idea he wasn't well-versed in non-lightsaber combat. "I suppose you'll find out after dinner."

The rueful twist to Jango's smile was the only clue that he was as amused as Obi-Wan. "I suppose I will."

They ate their tiingilar in easy silence, the low murmur of other diners a comforting background noise, with the occasional laugh and burst of amusement in the Force bringing a smile to his face. Mandalorians felt their emotions so honestly, it was a pleasure to be around. They were the outlying quiet table, and as they finished their food and started on their drinks he made an effort to start and keep the conversation flowing between them. They talked about everything and nothing.

He asked more questions about Myles and the other commandos who served Jaster, and Jango—somewhat surprisingly—answered them. He even indulged Obi-Wan with tales of some of the missions he'd led, and how badly some of them had gone. 

"Force," Obi-Wan said. "It's a wonder Jaster hasn't gone entirely grey."

"Ah, if the pressure of leading our people didn't do it, there's no way my antics would. But enough about me, I'm sure you have some equally heart-attack-inducing tales."

"I think you're underestimating the unique fear a child inspires in their parent."

"I think you're trying to distract me."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Not at all. Any tale I could tell, comparable to yours, would be. . . well, not a pleasant thing to speak of."

"Tell me anyway," Jango said, not noticing or ignoring Obi-Wan's hesitance. "I'm interested."

"In stories about a Jedi."

"In you," he said. "In what _you_ have done as a Jetii. Tell me about a mission gone wrong, or one that went right."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. He considered and discarded several he could talk about, before landing on one. "Did you hear about the blockade of Naboo?"

"I think everyone did. It was all over the news for months. You were involved?"

"I was. It was one of my first solo missions as a knight, or at least, it started out that way."

"Started that way?" Jango frowned.

"Mm. The blockade is well known, but had you heard that there was a Sith involved?"

"A dar'jetii?"

"Indeed. I helped the Queen flee her planet, but the hyperdrive was damaged. We ended up on Tatooine."

"You're a meandering kind of storyteller," Jango said, "aren't you?"

Obi-Wan pretended not to hear him. "I met my future padawan-brother there, and ran into the Sith. We fought briefly before escaping."

"Padawan brother?"

"Yes, Anakin. My old master took him as his latest apprentice not long after meeting him."

"And the dar'jetii"

"Was deemed enough of a threat that they sent another knight with us when we went to free Naboo."

"And you fought him again. You must have won, dar'jetii aren't known for letting their opponents live."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Oh yes, I won. He made the mistake of wounding Quin—the knight with me. My best friend. I thought he was dying, I thought it was a mortal wound. I—well, I lost my temper in a way you would undoubtedly appreciate."

"You killed him."

"Quite thoroughly."

Jango raised his glass of tihaar in a toast and Obi-Wan mirrored him, taking a long sip.

"So," Jango said, and he was stacking their empty bowls together. Setting them aside for the waiter. "What was the point of your story? You had one."

"Yes. The thing about Sith is, where there's one, there's at least one other."

"A warning then."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Sith enjoy chaos. They benefit from conflict. I would not be surprised if they're not particularly happy with how stable Mandalore has become of late."

He watched as Jango drained the last of his drink. "Thanks for the heads up," he said. His eyes were absent and on the door next to the bar. It had opened a few times as people moved back and forth, and judging by the bruised state of the people returning from that door, Obi-Wan assumed it led to the sparring ring.

"Jaster knows." Jango continued after a moment. "Your grandmaster told him."

"The night we arrived, yes," Obi-Wan said.

"That explains the mood he was in," Jango said. He stood, and threw some credit chips down on the table. More than enough to cover their meal and a generous tip. "Come on, I want to punch something and you'll do."

* * *

"Too slow," Kenobi called, and he didn't waste breath on a reply, but aimed a hit at the small opening he had left in his lower guard. He was blocked effortlessly, but Jango dropped and spun and aimed a kick at Kenobi's calves. Not what he'd been going for originally, and not enough to take out Kenobi, but it forced him off the ground to avoid a direct hit from Jango's beskar shin guards.

"Fast enough, you'll find," he rasped, and they both stepped back, circling each other. It was just the two of them in the ring, the hour was getting late but not so late yet that group brawls had started, and their audience was respectfully keeping their commentary too quiet to hear. They'd been at it for a while now, and neither of them had shown any inclination to stop. It was rare that Jango got to do this—with someone who could match him blow for blow, who could keep up, who didn't require him to hold back anything. They were both sweating hard and breathing heavy.

"Hold," he called, and he straightened out of his fighting stance for a moment to shrug out of the top half of his body stocking and tie the arms around his waist. He'd already removed the upper half of his beskar'gam before they'd started, in deference to his partner's lack of armor.

The brisk air of the courtyard felt good against his bare skin. He scrubbed the worst of the sweat from his face and felt rejuvenated. Ready for another round.

"Really?"

"You could remove another layer anytime."

"No need to scandalize our audience," Kenobi said, with a smirk. He was down to his undertunic, loose-fitting trousers, and boots. His lightsaber was tucked inside the sash tied around his waist instead of hanging from it. Where it was less likely to get in the way, Jango assumed.

Kenobi was less winded than he was. It grated on Jango, but he knew it was mostly down to the difference in their builds. Kenobi was built for speed and endurance. In this next round, he would have to make his greater muscle mass count, or Kenobi would outlast him.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go again."

"You sure? We could let someone else take a turn. You look like you could use a breather."

"Not going to work."

"I don't know what you mean. I just thought you might want to lie down for a bit. Regain your strength."

"Uh huh." And he lunged across the space between them and struck with a strong uppercut, and it was countered with just as much strength, and they were off again. Jango felt himself get lost in the rhythm of it, the way their bodies fell into the dance. If he didn't know better, he'd think they'd been sparring like this for years, the way his blows were so consistently countered, the way he knew how to block Kenobi's. He wasn't much for meditation, didn't understand the reverence in Kenobi's voice when he'd tried to explain it, but he imagined it felt something like this.

There was a strange peacefulness in their shared violence, and he felt his mind slow and center even as his body accelerated with the workout he was putting it through. That was fine, he didn't need his mind, a lifetime of muscle memory taking over.

Except, maybe his mind was needed, because Kenobi was a slippery opponent. One moment he was feeling exhilarated and he was slowly pushing Kenobi back toward the edge of the raised platform the ring was built on, slowly backing him into a corner where he wouldn't be able to dodge Jango's attempts to get them into a proper grapple. And then, in the space of a single breath, Kenobi spun under a blow meant for his shoulder, and let the movement flow and carry him under and around Jango's guard. And it was Jango who had to hastily correct his momentum before he toppled right off the platform.

Kenobi took advantage of the fact that Jango had to turn blind to find him, and grabbed his shoulder and tossed him over his hip. Jango landed on his back, the force of the throw knocking the air right out of him.

He blinked, and tried to get up, and found. . . a weight on his chest, knees pinning his arms down. A hand was on his collar bone and another pulled back for a finishing blow.

"That's another round to me," Kenobi said, his voice gone hoarse. He had not seen it until it was too late, how Kenobi had led him to the edge, had lured him there and used his confidence against him. He was still pinned to the ground. He could probably get out of the hold, but not before Kenobi knocked him out.

"I'm still in the lead," he said. "Unless you want to go for the best of seven."

Kenobi's smile was wicked. "I think we've monopolized the ring long enough. I'm sure someone else would like a turn. Besides, you really do look tired, old man."

"I'm not that much older than you, Kenobi."

"Call me Obi-Wan," he said, bringing his raised fist down to knuckle his forehead, playful in a way that surprised Jango. Which, that was probably unfair of him. He grabbed for the hand. Kenobi, Obi-Wan, grinned and evaded his grasp, and shifted, and for the briefest moment, he lost his balance and fell forward—

And they froze. They were close, too close. A nose was brushing his. They were close enough that he could see that Obi-Wan's eyes weren't blue, not completely. At their center was grey light enough to be silver. His hands found Obi-Wan's waist and settled there, tentative.

Obi-Wan's forehead fell to rest against his, the barest of a nudge. Just as Jango was registering the gesture, for what it _had_ to be, it was over.

"Fuck," Obi-Wan said. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Sorry." He was pushing away from Jango, stumbling to his feet. It had been the adrenaline. It had to have been. That was why Jango, for a split second, had considered pressing up into the kov'nyn. It was why he'd wanted to press his mouth to Obi-Wan's. Just the adrenaline. That had to be all it was.

"Here," Obi-Wan said, offering a hand to him. "Come on, let's get you up."

Apparently, they were going to pretend nothing happened.

"Still not that much older than you," Jango said, but he accepted the hand and let Obi-Wan haul him to his feet.

They stood there for a moment, breathing, and Jango finally registered the cheering of the crowd that had gathered while they were fighting. He looked around, offering nods and smiles to those he recognized, and without letting himself overthink it, reached out to place a hand on Obi-Wan's back. He guided him over to where they'd left their things, signaling that the ring was up for grabs.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said again, quietly.

"What, for implying I'm old?"

"If that's how you want to take it."

"How do you want me to take it?" He hadn't meant that to sound angry, for his confusion to come out so frustrated.

"I. . . I'm just sorry. There's a lot between us, between our people that it could be for. Take your pick." It was the sadness in his voice that forced him to look over. He was shrugging into his robe, folding his overtunic over his arm instead of putting it back on. "I overstepped. I'm sorry."

"You're the first," he said. He felt the shake in his voice. "The first jetii to apologize to me. For anything. Why should I think it anything but a mockery?"

That was crueler than he'd meant it to be. But Obi-Wan just looked at him with steady eyes. "I meant it sincerely," he said. "But I can't convince you of that, can I."

He looked away. "Maybe we should call it a night," he said. He untied the arms of his body stocking and shrugged back into it. He began to put his beskar'gam back on. He would escort Obi-Wan back to his guest suite, and go home, and they would never speak of this again. He would forget he had ever, for just a brief moment, wanted Obi-Wan. They would both forget and move on. He would not cross that line again, would not let himself think of Obi-Wan as anything other than a representative of the jetii.

But he would remember what it had been like to spar with him for the rest of his life. Just as that kov'nyn, no matter how fleeting, was seared into his memory.

"One last drink," Obi-Wan said, passing him his buy'ce. "Please. Let's not end the night on this note."

He arched a brow at him. "Your treat?"

"Of course."

"Alright, then. One last drink."

Obi-Wan's smile was slow and deep. Against his will, against his better judgment, the tension that had gathered in his shoulders dissipated. He found himself smiling back.

* * *

The whole night had been bizarre. It felt like a pocket of time, carved out of his regular life. It was entirely unlike how his life normally went. Nothing had gone irreparably wrong, no one had tried to kill him. It was a novel experience for Obi-Wan. And about halfway through their 'one last drink' that had turned into several last drinks, as he learned what Jango sounded like when he laughed with abandon and no thought to appearances, and that was when he began to think, _Okay. Maybe I'm not alone in this. Maybe this could be a thing_. Which of course, should have been the thought that tipped him off that everything was about to go horribly wrong.

Things like this didn't just work out for him, he had a lifetime of experiences proving that every bit of happiness came at a terrible price.

And for that whole night, carved out of time as it was, he let himself forget. Let himself forget the cost that was surely around the corner.

He forgot through dinner. There was a moment where he almost remembered after their spar, before being distracted by Jango's, well Jango's _everything_. He continued to forget as they sat at the bar and drank, long after everyone else moved out to the ring.

They were leaning closer, elbows and shoulders brushing, and Obi-Wan was loath to break the moment between them, even as the bartender began to give them loaded looks. They must be ready to close.

"You know," Jango said finally. "It's a nice night for a walk and the compound is only a few miles out. My speeder is fine where it is for tonight. Why don't we let them close and walk back?"

And Obi-Wan couldn't do anything but smile and agree. After paying, and leaving a tip generous enough that he wouldn't have much spending money left after, they walked outside, into the cool night air.

"Did you catch a ride with someone, to get here," Jango said. "Or did you walk over?"

"I walked, I didn't mind. Gave me time to think."

Jango hummed, shifting his bucket so it was tucked under the arm opposite of where Obi-Wan was walking.

"Don't start, I'm sure Dooku will suitably lecture me for walking around an unfamiliar city by myself later. And truly, I was fine. And I needed the time alone."

"What for?" Jango asked with a frown.

"Jedi stuff. Mostly personal. You. . . do you want to hear about it? I don't mind, but we can. . . just talk about something else."

"Tell me."

So Obi-Wan did. He told him how his master had fought his knighthood, and that it had been under Dooku's guidance and recommendation that he'd undergone his trials. He told him all about Anakin, and how he found himself, somewhat against his will, endlessly fond of him. He even talked about Quinlan, and how his friend had decided, just because it amused him, to sneak dye into the temple laundry just before this mission, and Obi-Wan had been seen off by a group of council members in robes of varying color and brightness. His own had been spared only by virtue of him having packed early, and—

"My apologies," he said, cutting off the stream of chatter. He'd been talking for the last several minutes of their walk, hardly letting Jango get a word in edgewise. He must be more tired than he'd realized if he was beginning to babble. "It's just, it's not often I meet someone who's interested who doesn't already know."

"I don't mind," Jango said, shifting to walk a bit closer, their shoulders bumping.

"You know, you never explained why you asked me to bring a weapon other than my lightsaber."

"Been wondering about, huh. We went back inside before it started, but some nights they hold group brawls where you go until there's only one left standing. No blasters, close-range weapons only."

"Ah, yes. I can see how a lightsaber wouldn't be conducive to that kind of thing."

"Exactly. I usually use a bo staff, what did you—"

"There you are," said a voice from the shadow of the tree the path they were on was leading to, and Obi-Wan stopped. Went still. Jango paused beside him, his free hand on his blaster.

"I've been looking for you for hours," the voice said, "I didn't expect to find you on a stroll with Jango Fett of all people."

Jango stiffened, and in one swift movement his bucket was back on and his blaster was pointing at the shadow. "Join us on the path," Jango said, "or I'll shoot and ask questions later."

"Oh, well. We wouldn't want to cause an incident."

Obi-Wan clenched his hands into fists, his teeth grinding. He said nothing as the man advanced out of the shadow and out into the lit walkway—the man who only had eyes for him, who never once looked towards Jango. "Obi-Wan," he said. "Is this any way to greet your former master?"

"That surprise guest you mentioned," Obi-Wan said to Jango, without looking at him. "Did you forget to tell me he was a Jedi."

"You never told me the name of your master," Jango said, shifting so that he was slightly in front of Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon just smiled serenely.

"Perhaps you should ask your friend to lower his blaster. Before an accident happens and you’re at the heart of another conflict.”

Almost a decade of working with him, and a handful of years avoiding him, and what was amazing, was that in all that time, he still hadn't learned to ignore the weight of Qui-Gon Jinn's disappointment. Something in him never failed to quail when that particular look was leveled in his direction. _My expectations of you were low_ , it said, _and still, you fell short._

"I thought Anakin was still temple-bound," Obi-Wan said steadily. "What are you doing here?"

Qui-Gon didn't say anything, he just glanced at Jango pointedly.

Obi-Wan swallowed.

"Go ahead, Jango," he said. "I can see myself back."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

That serene smile never faltered, and Obi-Wan moved. It was simple—because Jango wasn't watching _him_ —two clean motions and Jango's blaster was back in its holster and Obi-Wan was between him and Qui-Gon. From the corner of his eye, he watched Jango go absolutely still. A predatorial kind of stillness. 

He had to speak quickly, before this escalated.

"Go get your speeder, go home that way," Obi-Was said. "I'll be fine."

"Obi-Wan," he said quietly.

"Go Jango, _please_." He turned and looked Jango in the eye. He would never be sure what made Jango decide to listen, what he might have seen in Obi-Wan's expression, but he did listen. He turned on his heel and strode back the way they'd come from. Obi-Wan watched until he turned a corner and was out of sight.

"Now," he said. "Master Jinn. Why are you here?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the mini-cliff hanger but that was too good of a note to resit leaving it on.
> 
> I'd appreciate any thoughts you may have!
> 
> Translations/Phrases:
> 
> beskar'gam - armor; Literally: "iron skin"  
> buy'ce - helmet; Colloquially: pint, bucket  
> Tiingilar — Spicy Mandalorian stew  
> Deychin tea - a variety of tea from the planet Gatalenta  
> Caff - Star Wars coffee  
> di'kut - idiot  
> shebs - backside, rear, butt  
> Mand'alor - sole ruler/leader of Mandalore  
> Cuyir gar tsikala at ke'gyce? - Are you ready to order?  
> Elek. Tiingilar bal tihaar. Par mhi bintar. - Yes. Food and drink. For us both.  
> Gedet'ye - please  
> Mando'a - Mandalorian language  
> Ori'jate - Very good  
> Resol'nare - The six tenets of Mandalorian culture  
> Tihaar - an alcoholic drink; a strong, clear spirit made from fruit  
> dar'jetii - contextually used to refer to sith; literally translates to 'no longer a jedi'  
> kov'nyn - keldabe kiss


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations are in the endnotes, most should be clarified contextually.

* * *

"Stop," Obi-Wan said, and the tone of command kept Qui-Gon from taking another step. For the moment. Obi-Wan was standing in what appeared to be a park, halfway back to the compound, and Qui-Gon was blocking his path forward.

"Now, why are you here," Obi-Wan said. Qui-Gon didn't answer. He watched as Qui-Gon stepped closer instead, slowly, as if he was approaching one of his pathetic creatures, one he thought might lash out.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon said.

"No," he said. He kept his voice as level as he was still. Qui-Gon stopped just within arms reach. Obi-Wan straightened his tunics and tabards where they lay across his arm, hugging it to his middle. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," Qui-Gon murmured. "The Force willed me to be here. What were you doing with Fett?"

"Taking a walk. As you saw. If you're looking for Master Dooku, he's back at the compound, I believe."

Qui-Gon hummed. He looked Obi-Wan up and down with disapproval and hummed again. "I believe I already said I was looking for _you_. Why are you dressed like that?"

"Master Jinn," he said. "There's no need to go down this route. We both know you're the last one to care about appearances. Let's stop dancing around the issue, shall we? Tell me why you're here. The council didn't send you."

"You've grown confident, my erstwhile former padawan," Qui-Gon said, and his tone alone was enough to turn what could have been a compliment into a criticism. Obi-Wan shifted to hold his elbow with one hand while the other rubbed his jaw. "Not three years knighted, and already bold enough to order your former master around."

"I passed my trials. I have served as a Knight with no complaints from the council, my peers, or any masters," he said, low and even. "Whatever you think of me, I have earned my rank and the right to question any Jedi who shows up on a mission of mine with no warning or explanation."

Qui-Gon's face was more serene, more blank, than usual. "Why are you here," Obi-Wan said.

"I heard you and my old master were here to oversee the treaty. And to continue to cozy up to Mereel and Fett."

"Indeed," Obi-Wan said, striking what he hoped was a conversational tone. Qui-Gon's irritated frown said he might have landed on sarcastic instead, so he continued before he could be interrupted. "Look, I know you don't much like the True Mandalorians, or Mand'alor Mereel. . . but the New Mandalorians agreed to the treaty. It's done, and for the first time in my lifetime, Mandalore is stable and standing as one. Please, can't we just be happy for them?"

There was silence from Qui-Gon, so Obi-Wan took another breath. "Don't let our issues color your perception of this mission."

"Our issues," Qui-Gon said. "Would that include you going over my head to petition for your knighthood trials? Against all tradition, and to compound the injury, you did it by ingratiating yourself to my old master. Who I made no secret of keeping you from. For good reason."

"Mm," said Obi-Wan. As in many conversations with Qui-Gon, he found himself approaching a tipping point of _I am going to remain calm and argue rationally no matter what he says_ or _I'm going to walk away lest I lose my temper enough to punch him in his overly serene face_. He had, once again, reached that point. Had been hurtling towards that point since Qui-Gon interrupted his pleasant stroll with Jango. The amount he’d had to drink wasn’t helping. "Let's unpack that shall we. I did not go over your head. Dooku believed I was past ready and when you didn't agree, he went to the council for guidance. I didn't ask him to do so, _I didn't even know he had_. I know you felt slighted when the council agreed to send me to my trials, over your objections, but. . . it's been years, master. You have a new padawan. Surely, we can put it behind us now."

"I do have a new padawan, one who has never let me down. And you would do well to remember that, knight or not, earned or not, I am a master many years your senior."

"My apologies," Obi-Wan said, "for any offense, you found in my words. Perhaps I should let you return to your quarters, and we can try again tomorrow when we're both better rested."

Qui-Gon tilted his head to the side. "Whatever for?"

"So that we can talk more productively."

"Talk," he repeated. "Are you so worn you can't carry a conversation, Knight Kenobi?"

"Force, Qui-Gon, are you trying to pick a fight? Honestly, what in Sith hells are you trying to achieve. What is going on?"

"I had a vision," he hissed, and that brought Obi-Wan up short. Qui-Gon had never had a true vision before, that he knew of, not one that he remembered enough of once he woke up for it to mean anything. Qui-Gon had long laid his lack of visions at the feet of his skill with the living force. At his ability to exist in the current moment. It occurred to him how unnerved Qui-Gon must be by having any type of vision, let alone one that drove him to act this erratically, one that drove him _here._ To Obi-Wan of all people. The bottom of his stomach dropped out. He rubbed his hand across his mouth to hide the frown there.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said quietly. "I can. . . imagine how scary of an experience that must be after a life without any. I did not intend to. . . make things worse with an argument between us. Is that why. . . you're here? If there's. . ." he faltered. At a loss. "If there's anything I can do," he continued finally. "If there's anything you need from me—for all our problems, Qui-Gon, you must know I would help. If you need me—"

He took a deep breath and released his hurt and panic into the Force. "I'll help if I can, is what I'm trying to say."

Qui-Gon wasn't even looking at him, had looked away at some point while Obi-Wan was talking. He just nodded curtly, and continued to look around the dimly lit park. The lanterns served to illuminate the walkway, but little else.

"So," Obi-Wan said, striving to achieve some kind of normal tone. "Who is here with you? It can't be Anakin, he's too young to be allowed on a mission off-planet."

Qui-Gon sighed. "I'll give you one guess for who might have heard I was coming to find you and invited themselves along."

Obi-Wan laughed, startled. "Quinlan? You spent a week in transit with Quinlan Vos?"

"He didn't give me much choice. He was quite—"

"Stubborn. Yes, he is definitely that. What was your vision about, master?" Qui-Gon was standing there, his hands tucked in his sleeves, face impassive. "Truly, I would like to help."

Qui-Gon turned, tilting his head in an invitation. "Let's begin the trek back. There's no reason to continue standing here."

He fell in step beside Qui-Gon, and maintained his silence. He'd asked why Qui-Gon was here, multiple times. And offered to help, multiple times. The next overture would not come from him.

"Do you still get visions," Qui-Gon said, as they approached the outer walls of the palace compound. Serene Qui-Gon, grounded Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon who had never been interested in knowing anything past the current moment.

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, painfully aware of how unhelpful that was.

"I may owe you an apology," Qui-Gon said. There was a small hitch in his stride, a slowness that Obi-Wan didn't remember being there. "I just. . . I don't think I truly understood how. . . disorienting they could be until I experienced one."

"Yes," he repeated. "They can be quite disorienting."

"I understand that now. Did you—have you—" he wiped a weary hand over his face. "Have you ever had visions of my death?"

"I have."

"Did you do anything? To prevent it."

"Yes. I agreed when Dooku and the council proposed sending me to my trials."

"You. . . that was tied to my death? How could that. . ."

"It wasn't, not directly," Obi-Wan said, and shrugged. "But it was important that I be knighted before Naboo, it was important that you not be on that mission with me. Or so my visions and the Force led me to believe. And since you're here beside me, and not one with the Force, I'm inclined to believe I acted as I was meant to."

Qui-Gon looked at him curiously. "You took your trails, not because you wanted to, but in order to save my life."

"Don't get me wrong, I wanted to be knighted. It was my boyhood dream, after all. But if it weren't for my visions. . . I may have refused to take them at that particular moment in time, simply because you didn't believe me to be ready."

"Well. Why didn't you say anything to me, then? Explain your vision?”

"Keep your concentration here and now," Obi-Wan quoted. "Where it belongs."

Qui-Gon stuttered to a stop just short of the gates, regarding him sadly. "When did you stop trusting me with your visions?"

"Oh, I couldn't say for sure. Sometime between ages 14 and 16."

"I see." Qui-Gon. "I failed you, didn't I?"

"In some aspects, perhaps."

"I'm sorry. You have every right to refuse to speak to me about my vision, or about anything else. I'm beginning to realize I failed you in this, and in other ways. . . and that I have no right to expect you to help me with the very thing I failed to help you with."

"I'll be the judge of whether I help or not," Obi-Wan said, more quietly. He nudged Qui-Gon into walking again, steering him to the small courtyard near the guest wing. "Tell me what you saw."

"I saw you and my master," Qui-Gon whispered. "I saw you both on the ground. Dead or unconscious, I couldn't tell for sure. A Mandalorian in armor stood above you, blaster raised."

"Ah," Obi-Wan nodded. "So you decided it had to do with this mission."

"I did."

"Can you describe the setting? Where we were?"

"It looked like a cell—somewhere underground, I think. I. . . the focus was on you—everything else is somewhat of a blur."

"And the Mandalorian?"

"Unpainted beskar'gam," Qui-Gon said. "Except for red paint around the t-shaped visor. Oh, and he wore red shoulder plates."

"Ah," he said again. "Now, tell me, did I have a beard?"

Qui-Gon frowned. "No, no I do not think you did."

"You didn't get a vision of the future, or any possible one. That, was a vision of something that has already passed."

"What? But there was no padawan braid.”

"The slavers cut it off. I started growing my beard right after my trials," Obi-Wan said, keeping his tone casual. If their relationship had been normal, this was something Qui-Gon would have known. But it hadn't been. Even before Dooku interceded, before his knighting, they’d been distant. Often, they’d separated for missions, as they had that time. When they’d reunited Qui-Gon had been too distracted by Dooku to notice that Obi-Wan’s braid was shorter than it should have been. And not long after that, it hadn’t mattered. “I had a full beard before going on my first mission as a Knight. I have no intention of ever shaving it off again. Besides, I recognize the description. What you saw, was from my padawan years. That, was the mission where I met Master Dooku and Mand'alor Jaster for the first time."

"That doesn't make sense," he said. "If it was a vision of events that have already passed, then why was the Force insistent on my coming here?"

"Being of the past," he said, "does not mean it wasn't meant to bring you here. Perhaps there is a reason for you to be here, and the vision was merely the messenger. The Force works in mysterious ways, and it is not ours to know why."

"Situation normal, then."

"Quite so."

There was a bleak smile on Qui-Gon's face. He looked older than his years, and Obi-Wan reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Go get some rest," he said. "You must be tired. And. . . what you said before? About failing me? For what it's worth, the worst part about the rift between us was not getting to know you as a knight. Not being able to learn how to be brothers-in-arms and friends instead of master and apprentice. I don't know what that means, precisely, but I don't think it means we can't try to rebuild something of a friendship." He let his hand fall away after a light squeeze, and then he brushed past Qui-Gon and down the hallway to the suite he was sharing with Dooku, before Qui-Gon could formulate any kind of response.

He didn't bother turning on any of the lights, striding through the lounge and into his bedroom and beelining for his bed. He curled up there, hoping the morning light would bring some measure of clarity—about what to do with Qui-Gon, about what to do with Jango—and hoping, more fervently, that he could find a way to be at peace with whatever level of relationship either would grant him.

* * *

Jango arched a brow at the mountain of blankets. There was a single hand sticking out from under one of the corners. Jango kicked it. "Wake up," he said. "Come on, Myles. Wake the hell up."

The blankets shifted. Myles groaned. "Kriffing hell," he croaked. "You better have a good kriffing reason for waking me. I was on duty all night."

"Is that so. Come on, get up. It's past noon, you shouldn't still be in bed anyway. Come on, I need your help."

"My help? Oh, fuck, tell me the new jetii didn't start a fight."

"Not that I know of, but it's related. Now, get up," Jango said, ripping away the blankets. Myles must have been tangled up thoroughly, because he went tumbling to the ground with them, moaning and flailing. Jango kicked him.

Myles heaved a sigh and staggered to his feet, one of the sheets wrapped around his waist. He leveled a murderous glare at Jango.

"I will have my revenge," he muttered, pushing past him on his way to the fresher.

"Uh huh, I'm sure you will. It would probably require you to be awake before midday though."

"It'll be worth it. Just you wait, one day, when you've been out all night, and you least expect it, I'll be there to throw you out of bed and kick you in the ribs with beskar boots. Just you wait." He had left the door open and was just audible over the sound of the sonic shower going. He was back quickly, grabbing a bodystocking from his dresser and struggling into it. "Alright, shabuir," he growled, dropping down to sit on the edge of his bed. "I'm awake. What the hell is so important?"

"I went on a date."

Myles squinted up at him. "I thought Jaster asked you to try to get to know the pretty jetii."

"That's what I thought I was doing, but—"

"Shit, are you telling me you went on a date with a jetii? With Kenobi?"

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't realize it was a date until he ordered me to leave him behind to argue with that bastard Jinn."

"Why would that make me feel better? What the _fuck,_ Jango. You woke me up for a date that _you didn't know was a date_ until it was over? Are you for real? Do you know when I went to bed? Like, three hours ago, that's when. Because these jetii never sleep and can't be allowed to wander alone."

"Yeah, about that. How is it that Jinn was out without an escort?"

Myles pinched the bridge of his nose. "That, is because Vos is a menace and it took half a squad to keep him from starting a fight in the mess hall. Not a fun food fight either. Jinn slipped away during the mayhem, and we couldn't find him after."

He sighed and turned to the desk in the corner where he'd left a carafe and two mugs. His buy’ce sat next to them. He poured them generous helpings of caff and walked back over to Myles. "Here, a peace offering."

"Give me," Myles said. He downed half of it, and then looked at Jango again, some of the murderous fire in his gaze banked. "Okay, that's better. Thank you. Now, tell me again how you ended up on a date with Kenobi?"

"It wasn't," he said. "Technically, it wasn't a date."

"Okay," Myles said. "Explain that to me."

"I uh, I think he thought it was a date from the get-go. Or at least, he thought it was _possibly_ a date. And I—I may have disabused him of that idea fairly early on—I told him I'd asked him to dinner on Jaster's orders."

Myles grimaced. "Romantic. You fucked up."

"In my defense, I thought that was the truth when I said it."

"Uh huh. Where did you take him?"

"Bev's eatery."

"Jango, you di'kut," Myles said. "That's not where you take a political ally for dinner. Or even a new friend. You know what, I need to be more awake for this nonsense. Hold on."

He downed the rest of his caf and got up again heading over to the rack where his beskar'gam was laid out. Jango took a seat on the bed. He sat there and studied his hands and waited. And when he next looked up, Myles was fully kitted out except for his buy'ce—and had refilled his mug. He was leaning back against his desk, sipping his caf and watching Jango. "Alright," he said. "Tell me more about this date-you-didn't-realize-was-a-date that was totally a-date-from-the-beginning."

"You're not funny."

"I'm hilarious. And serious, tell me what happened. And what, precisely you need help with. It's not like you've never been on a date before."

"There's not much to tell," he said. "We had dinner and drinks, I put my foot in my mouth at least twice. We sparred and got more drinks after. Then, our stroll home was rudely interrupted."

"Fine, don't tell me the details if you don't want to. But, at least, tell me why it was Jinn showing up that clued you in. Of all things."

Jango grimaced. "Because that's when I realize I'd been looking forward to escorting him back to his suite."

"That's moving fast for a date you didn't know you were on."

"Not like that, you ass. Just, I wanted to see him back safe. End on a better note than being sent away so he could argue with another jetii."

"So, what you really want, is a redo," Myles said, slowly. "You want another date with him. One that ends better.”

"Yeah. I need to think of a way to ask too, something good. Something that makes it clear it's coming from me. I need ideas."

"How about just asking him on a date? Jango, you're overthinking this."

Jango scowled. "Not good enough."

"Look, I know he's a jetii, but it's not like he'll expect a gilded flimsi invitation, honestly—"

"You're not helping."

“Okay, okay, fine. Look you already took him to your favorite place to relax, you sparred with him. All that's left is to make your intent clear, and take him to bed."

"What? This is how you get partners? Dine and wine them, fight them, and sleep with them? That works for you."

"Sure, most of the time."

"When doesn’t it?"

"When they want something more."

Jango sighed and flopped back on the bed, his mug of caff forgotten on the ground. Maybe coming to Myles for help had been a mistake. Myles, who had never had a desire to do more than sleep with people. Who literally ran from partners who hinted they may want to say marriage vows in the future. He was an idiot. This whole thing was idiotic. "Hey," Myles was saying. "Whoa, don't worry, vod. We'll figure something out."

"No," Jango said dully. He covered his face with his hands. "I don't know what I'm doing," he said, muffled behind his hands. "I don't what I should do here. I don't know how to make it up to him, I was an idiot last night. I don't even know if I should try."

"Okay," Myles said. "You gotta explain this to me."

Jango laughed, bitter. "He's a jetii Myles. It's not like. . . it's not like there's marriage and ade at the end of this for me, even if everything goes perfectly. Most likely, we won't even make it to bed, let alone further than that. . . Scary thing is, that doesn't bother me. Scary thing is, I don't care. . . I just want to, to be around him. I want. . . to spar with him again and make him laugh. I would give anything to just exist next to him. . . it doesn't matter what I. . . nevermind. Fuck, nevermind. Fuck. Forget I said anything."

He lowered his hands to find Myles staring at him with wide eyes. "What do I do," he said.

"You don't give up."

"Despite what I just said?"

"Thought you wanted me to forget that."

"Myles," Jango growled.

"Sheesh, okay. I don't know what to tell you about where you two may or may not end up, but as for getting another date? I think you're thinking about it wrong. You don't need to impress him, that's what last night was about. You want something meaningful with him? This time should be about opening up, letting him in."

"Letting him in, right," he said, instead of the thousands of questions that occurred to him.

"Right, so just. Let him in, let him see you, not the Mandalor’s ad or the presumptive successor. Not the part-time bounty hunter either. You. Take him someplace special, someplace that means something. And for fuck's sake, tell him you're doing it because _you want to_."

"Okay," Jango said. "Okay, I can work with this." He shoved himself upright and then to his feet. "What else?"

"Go somewhere you haven't taken anyone else, maybe. Somewhere that shows him a side of you he wouldn't expect. Somewhere not about sparring or drinking."

"Okay, yeah. I can do that."

"This doesn't mean you don't make an effort," Myles said. "Polish your armor, shave, and for the love of everything we hold to be mandokar, try not to insult his Order and faith."

"Hey," Jango said. "I know better than that. I won't do it, now that I know it's a date."

"So, what I'm hearing is, you did insult him last night."

"Might have."

Myles sighed. "Try not to repeat it, though Kenobi doesn't seem the type to hold a grudge."

"Not for words," Jango mused. "But I think there are some acts that would inspire grudges from him."

"Oh? I don't suppose you're going to explain that."

Jango wandered over to the lone window and stared out of it. The courtyard was bright with the afternoon sun. "Thought so," Myles said, his voice quieter. "Jango, are you okay?"

"No," Jango said. "I haven't been anywhere near okay since I sparred with Obi-Wan."

"So he's Obi-Wan now."

"Yeah." He braced his hands on the windowsill and leant there. "I think I. . . fuck, I think. . . this feels different, from any other date I've been on. . . I think I might. . . I don't know, maybe. . ."

"Maybe, it's different because you actually like him."

"What. I've liked everyone I've dated."

"No, you thought they were all attractive. You respected most of them. I don't think you've ever _liked_ any of them."

"Fuck." Jango collapsed back on the bed and this time Myles sat beside him. "What does that say about me?"

"I don't know, man. I'm not a therapist or a mind healer."

Jango laughed. "Vor Entye, Myles. Thanks for—for listening."

"Sure. Maybe next time, you can wait until I'm awake. Or at least wake me gentler."

"I make no promises."

"Asshole."

He gave Myles a rueful smile, because Myles was right—he was an asshole and he couldn't see any reason Obi-Wan would even be interested in another date. Except, well, that kov'nyn hadn't been initiated by him. And Obi-Wan, before Jinn had shown up, had seemed just as reluctant as he was to end the night. Maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance.

* * *

Obi-Wan knelt in the suite lounge, trying to sink into a deep meditation. He wondered if he'd be able to focus enough to get answers to his many lingering questions; probably he wouldn't, probably this mediation would end with him serene but no more knowledgeable than when he'd begun. As per usual, of late.

Honestly, he knew the answers, they were just not what he was hoping for. Qui-Gon would continue to be the mentor he cared for more than could be reciprocated. And Jango, if he were lucky, would progress from uneasy ally to friend. Instead of seeking better, he should be meditating on how to be more accepting of both outcomes.

How sad was it, that he had become a knight who needed help accepting reality? Earned his rank, indeed.

"There you are, Obi," said Quinlan. He arrived with Dooku on his feels, following at a more sedate pace.

"Hello there, Quinlan," he murmured, grateful for the distraction. He shifted to sit more comfortably and watched Quinlan sprawl across the sofa. "Grandmaster."

"I see you survived your run-in with Jinn. He's been acting odd for weeks, you know. Wouldn't settle until the council granted him the use of a ship to come find you. And I, being the curious fellow I am," he said, with a smirk directed at him, and then at Dooku. "Of course, ensured I got a front-row seat for whatever mess you've gotten into."

"Good Force," said Dooku, sitting on the lone armchair. He sighed and folded his hands in his lap. "Do you ever pause to breathe."

"Nah, breathing is for the weak."

"It's nice to see you both," Obi-Wan said, rescuing the water bottle he'd left on the coffee table and taking a sip.

"Whereas for me, I could have gone another year without seeing you. I still haven't forgiven you for teaching Aayla that evasive roll," He said with a scowl. "Sparring with her has gotten unfairly competitive considering she's still a junior padawan."

Dooku snorted. "I believe that says more about your capabilities than hers."

Quinlan leaned back against the couch, one hand clutched to his chest. "Oh, you wound me, Master Dooku."

"You're in fine form today, Quin," he said, and Quinlan just grinned at him, apparently immune to Dooku's disapproving looks.

"I do try," he said, letting his hand drop back to his lap. "Now, do you want to tell the class what's gotten into Jinn?"

"I'm rather curious, myself," Dooku said, leaning forward in his seat. As though he fully expected Obi-Wan would have all the answers, would be able to assuage whatever worries he was hiding behind his neutral façade. Obi-Wan looked away.

"A vision," he said, finally. "He had a vision. Of the two of us, Grandmaster. Knocked unconscious with a Mandalorian he didn't recognize standing over us."

"You're telling us Qui-Gon Jinn," Quinlan said. "He who doesn't believe in predicting the future, had a vision that freaked him out enough he actually _tried to do something about it?_ "

"The best source of knowledge is experience," Dooku offered, as though they were discussing philosophy and not Qui-Gon's, frankly, out-of-character behavior. As much as Obi-Wan wanted to believe it was as simple as Qui-Gon being worried about them, he had too many examples of the opposite being true. "It was from when we rescued you, just before you turned 20. Wasn't it."

Obi-Wan nodded. "That's my belief. Based on the description he gave, the simplest explanation is that he saw a past event."

He had the pleasure of watching Dooku's mask crack enough for his jaw to visibly tighten. "That leaves the question of why—why he saw that event, and why now—it is all terribly convenient."

Obi-Wan took a long pull from his water bottle, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He put the cap back on, frowning down at it. He had a theory, but it didn't seem likely. "He felt the Force was pushing him to come here," he said. "But once I told him it was a vision of the past, he was at a loss for why."

"Hey," Quinlan said. He had scooted over on the couch so that was closer to Obi-Wan. His legs just about brushing his side, because Quinlan Vos had no concept of personal space. "It might be as simple as the Force pushing him to make amends with you. I'm not a fan of the guy, by any means, but you lived in and out of each other's pockets for several years. Maybe he missed you, and so the Force sent him the kick in the ass he needed to do something—"

"Please," Obi-Wan said. Somehow his knees were curled up to his chest, his head buried in his arms. He didn't remember moving to sit like that. "Please, don't encourage me to believe that."

"My dear grandpadawan, please cease the dramatics," Dooku said, and the words were harsh, but his voice was gentle. Kind.

"Whoa, hey, no. That's not okay," Quinlan growled, and Obi-Wan looked up at him, startled. But then, he’d only identified the tenderness in Dooku’s voice from long association with him, Quinlan must have only heard the reprimand.

"I only meant, that you shouldn't dismiss Vos' theory out of hand," Dooku said. "For all of Qui-Gon's faults, he does care, in his own way."

Obi-Wan put his head back down, because he didn't know what his face was doing and he'd rather no one else either.

"It's not dramatics," he insisted. "Not when I have a wealth of experiences showing that he does not, in fact, care about me. In particular."

"Then why was Jinn in such a good mood this morning," Quinlan said.

"Because I'm better at acting like a Jedi, talking like one, than I actually am at being one. I offered to help with his vision, and I meant it. And then, like a fool, I said we could work on building a friendship. Force, I didn't even check if that was _something he would want_. I'm a damn fool."

There was an arm around his shoulders, and he knew without looking up that Quinlan had joined him on the floor. "You are not a fool. If you have ever trusted me about anything, trust me about that."

"In fairness to you," Dooku said, "Qui-Gon runs as hot and cold with most everyone in his life. You would not be the first, nor the last, to be unsure of where you stood with him. And, Obi-Wan, it says a lot that you still reached out to him. I am proud to call you grandpadawan."

"What he said, in his oh-so-high-and-mighty-way," Quinlan said, and Obi-Wan could hear the playfully disgusted face he was making, "my only addition, is that no matter what happens with Jinn, you have us in your corner. And, I suspect, Mereel and Fett."

"Jaster, quite possibly. I don't know about Jango."

"Hm," Dooku said. "I wouldn't discount Young Jango. I overheard him and Jaster conspiring on my way to fetch Vos."

"Alright, enough heavy talk," said Quinlan, and his arm tightened around Obi-Wan, shaking him a bit. "Let's get some food and tea in you, that'll make you feel better."

"That is a good idea, I will make some of my Deychin tea for you."

* * *

He'd only just convinced Quinlan and Dooku to go find food without him when his comm went off. He didn't look at it right away. Odds were, it was Quinlan, probably with some inane question about what food he might want. Eventually, he grabbed it and glanced over the message, just in case it was something important.

It was from Jango.

 _I may have lied to you_ , it read.

He blinked down at it. Whatever he might have expected, that wasn't it. _What about?_

_I said I asked you to dinner because Jaster told me to. Truth is, he suggested getting to know you. But the rest was all me. I was in denial._

He was typing his response and sending it before he could second-guess what he'd said. _Denial about what, if I may ask_ , he sent, and then set his comm down. He resisted the urge to pick it up and stare at the conversation and reread it while waiting for an answer.

 _That I wanted our dinner to be a date,_ it said. _And in honor of that, and to make up for being too beskar-headed to realize sooner, I'd like to take you out again. If that's something you would want._

Obi-Wan found himself smiling at that, for no good reason. Luckily, there was no one around to see.

 _Here's the thing though_ , Jango sent before he could come up with a response.

Obi-Wan stared at his comm, his smile fading.

 _You there? J_ ango asked when he didn't answer for several moments.

 _Yes,_ he sent back.

_The thing is, I'd like to do something a little unorthodox for our second date. Would you be game?_

Obi-Wan hesitated before answering. Because, what would a Mandalorian consider 'unorthodox'? The sparring had already been a bit out there for Obi-Wan, and he came from a culture that had a lot of similarities to other warrior-cultures.

 _What would we be doing,_ he landed on sending finally.

_I'd like it to be a surprise. If you can trust me enough for that. I swear, it won't be anything dangerous or anything that might offend your delicate jetii sensibilities._

_Force knows why, but I do trust you._

That silenced Jango for a few solid minutes. _For whatever reason, I'm glad you do_ , he responded finally. _Does that mean you're in?_

 _Yes,_ he typed and sent. _Yes, I'd like to go on another date with you, Jango Fett._ Explaining this to Quinlan and Dooku when they got back would be just delightful, he knew. Quinlan would be far too smug for his tastes and Dooku would probably just arch his brows at their nonsense and shake his head. And then go gossip with Jaster about it.

_Oya! I'll send details soon._

Obi-Wan smiled again, helpless to resist it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought if you have a moment! :)
> 
> Full disclosure, I wrote a version of this where Qui-Gon was much more of an asshole (b/c it made everything simpler), but it didn't tonally mesh with the rest of the fic so I re-wrote it to be more nuanced. This means a slightly longer story to pace everything out nicely. 
> 
> There will be at least one more chapter, out next weekend.
> 
> Translations/phrases:
> 
> Mand'alor - Mand'alor - sole ruler/leader of Mandalore  
> Beskar'gam - armor; Literally: "iron skin"  
> Kriffing - a derogatory modifier based on the word kriff. Similar to 'fucking'  
> Jetii - Jedi  
> Shabuir - extreme insult - "jerk", but much stronger  
> Buy'ce - helmet; Colloquially: pint, bucket  
> Caff - star wars coffee  
> Di'kut - fool, idiot, useless individual; ontext-dependent: can mean jerk, moron, etc.  
> Vod - brother, sister, comrade  
> Mandokar - the right stuff  
> Vor Entye — "Thank you"  
> Kov'nyn - keldabe kiss  
> Deychin tea - a variety of tea from the planet Gatalenta  
> Beskar-headed - used like "hard-headed"  
> Oya - Here, used as 'cheers', Literally: Let's hunt! Colloquially adapted as a positive and triumphant cheer with potential meanings including "Stay alive!", "Go you!", and simply "Cheers!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters a bit heavy on the dialogue, and it's also the one that comes the closest to earning its M rating. 
> 
> Translations are in the endnotes, most should be clarified contextually.

* * *

Jango stood and watched Obi-Wan toss a youngling up in the air. "You're good with them," he said in approval. Obi-Wan caught the giggling Twi-lek child and settled her on his hip.

"I spent, hm, let's say, a higher than average amount of time in the creche as an apprentice."

"Because you wanted to be there, or because it was a punishment?"

He leaned over to tickle Khiye's side, tracking the way Obi-Wan shifted closer so that she was braced between the two of them, her tiny hand clutching at the shoulder of his tunic.

"Bit of both," Obi-Wan said. "Started as a punishment, and then I just kept going back."

"Never seen jetiise around ade, before. Didn't think you would know what to do."

"We keep our younglings in-temple until they're thirteen, or their species equivalent. Were you hoping I'd make a fool of myself?"

"I would have rescued you, don't worry." He tweaked Khiye's nose and looked up at Obi-Wan. "But no, I just wanted to, do something a bit different. This time."

Obi-Wan was leaning towards him, hands holding Khiye stable and close, smiling at him. Genuinely smiling at him, not sending him the neutral smile he'd seen so much of. There was a sea of ade in the park with them, and their designated watchers, more than there usually were at this time of day. But then, Jango had warned them he'd be bringing Obi-Wan by, he wasn't surprised that some of the buire wanted to be there to supervise.

"Well," Obi-Wan was saying, "our first date was already fairly different for me. For example, in my experience dinner only happens half of the time and sparring even less often.”

"Less than half of the time? No wonder you're still single."

"Mm. So sure that what I've been missing out on is a decent sparring partner?"

"Yes. Along with you being too honorable to break your jetii code."

"Honorable, maybe. But the code has nothing to do with it." Between them Khiye began to wiggle, asking to be put down, and Jango watched in fascination as Obi-Wan crouched down and set her on her feet. She looked up at him, her thumb firmly in her mouth.

"I wanna go play," she murmured.

"Then go," Obi-Wan said, firmly. "We'll be right here. And, my dear, no running this time."

Khiye nodded seriously, turning on her heel and darting off towards the group of ade tussling in the grass. Compared to earlier, she was indeed not running, but she still fell into the other ade full tilt. Still learning how to pump the brakes, apparently.

"Obi-Wan," he said, but Obi-Wan was watching Khiye pop back up on her feet and giggle with the boy she'd mowed over.

"She's adorable," he said.

"What did you mean, it's not against the code."

Obi-Wan gave him a side glance as he stood back up. _Don't leave me wondering_ , Jango wanted to say, watching Obi-Wan peel off his jacket and lay it across the bench they'd been occupying earlier.

Obi-Wan stretched his arms up in the air, a beautiful controlled line of shoulders to hips, and all Jango could think about was what that trim form would look like spread across his bed and without the silk shirt and trousers Obi-Wan was wearing. Jango took a deep breath, regretting he didn't have his beskar'gam to hide behind. Obi-Wan was turning back to him now. "The code forbids attachment," he explained. "Not compassion, not love. Certainly not relationships." There was something in his expression, his voice, that told Jango that Obi-Wan knew why Jango was asking. _You know I want more than a few dates, you know I'm feeling out how far you'll allow yourself to go_ , was what he wanted to say. He wanted to press for answers, wanted to grab Obi-Wan and shake him, but he was better than that and he'd promised Myles he would treat Obi-Wan better than that. Obi-Wan deserved better than that.

"Okay," he said around a suddenly clumsy tongue. He swallowed. "Okay," he repeated, falling back to sit on the bench.

Obi-Wan perched beside him. "Remember the first time we saw each other," he said.

Before Jango could come up with an answer, a way to soften the honest truth that, _no, he really didn't_ , a youngling shouted his name and waved. He jumped on the distraction and waved back. It warmed something in him to watch the ad brighten at his attention, however distant and fleeting. He was fairly sure that was Zumo, one of Myles' aliit. A nephew maybe.

He turned back to find Obi-Wan's eyes on him and realized that he had been watching the ade too long, lost in thought, and Obi-Wan's eyes were too sharp to miss that Jango had let himself do it in order to dodge the topic of their first meeting. He sighed. "You were surrounded by other jetiise, I don't—I don't remember picking you out of the crowd. Not until the next time, when it was just you and Dooku," he said after a moment, shifting closer and letting their thighs and shoulders brush. An apology, of sorts.

"I see," Obi-Wan said, pressing into Jango, a warm line against his side. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, all things considered. Well, my point anyway, was to say that I remember it vividly. You were standing there, a youngling attached to each leg. Just rescued yourself, them along with you, and you were the only adult they trusted. We all wanted to help—help you, help them—but they were frightened. It was excruciating. I knew from that first sighting that you were someone I wanted to know, someone worth knowing."

"Those ade were a pain in my ass."

"And yet. You adored them. Can I ask where they are now?"

"Sundari. A New Mandalorian family took them in."

"You let them go to New Mandalorians? Before the treaty?"

Jango laughed, he knew why the idea was shocking to Obi-Wan. To be honest, it had taken him time to come around to the idea. He'd been tempted to take them in himself, to adopt them. But he hadn't been in the right frame of mind for it. And they'd deserved the best after what they'd been through. "They'd seen enough blood and fighting," he said after a while. "They're happy where they are. I hear from them every now and then."

"Good."

"You ever thought of raising an ad? Taking a, what do you call them, a padawan?"

"Once," Obi-Wan replied shortly.

"Got cold feet? Or did someone take them first?"

"No, it was—it was Anakin, actually. After the Naboo mission."

"Anakin, your brother? So, Jinn go to him first."

Obi-Wan leaned more of his weight against him and watched as the ade's game of tag dissolved into sprawling on the grass and halfheartedly kicking each other. The moment dragged on long enough, Jango thought he wasn't going to answer. "I took Anakin back to the temple, the sith's presence made training him imperative," he said. "I argued with the council to allow him to join the initiates his age. And something in the Force pulled me towards him, bound us together. We had the beginning of bond, even then. But I was a newly-minted knight and he was just nine. I thought there was time."

"Oh no," Jango said, because he could see where this was going. Knew how it must end.

"Yes. Anakin's arrival stirred up gossip and Master Jinn was curious enough to seek him out," he said. "My former master is infamous for being a bit of a maverick, and no one could reasonably claim to be surprised when practically took Anakin as his apprentice on the spot. Least of all, me. I should have expected it."

"Damn," Jango sighed. "Anakin agreed?"

"Of course, he's desperate to be a Jedi Knight, as I was at his age. He jumped on the offer. I can hardly blame him for it, while I was making plans to offer to take him on once he'd had time to settle in at the temple, I hadn't told him that. He didn't know he had another choice. There's no saying he wouldn't have made the same decision even if he did. The council was very apologetic, for they knew my plans. _Perhaps it's for the best Knight Kenobi_ , they said. _You will find another to teach."_ Obi-wan shrugged. "I'm less optimistic. I haven't felt the same pull towards anyone other than Anakin."

"Kriffin' hell. You've given up on taking an apprentice?"

Obi-Wan winced. "I've been apprenticed to a master who wasn't sure he wanted me. I refuse to do that to a child, if at all possible. If I come across one that feels right, then yes, I'll offer to teach them. Happily. But I won't take one just for the sake of having one."

"Good."

"Mm. And you? Thinking about taking in some foundlings?"

"I'm a simple man, making his way in the galaxy."

"That's not an answer."

Jango laughed, dodging the swat aimed at him. His mind circled back to Obi-Wan with a student, with a warrior he was raising. Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, fueled by protective determination—it would be a thing to see. A thing to be a part of. "Yeah," he said, yanking his mind back on track. "Yeah, I want nothing more than to be a buir. A good parent. The way Jaster was for me."

He heard Obi-Wan's soft hum, and in unspoken agreement, they turned back to watch the kids. The younger ones had rallied, their energy bouncing back quicker than their older counterparts. It was funny watching them bounce around, trying to coax the others out of the heap of limbs they'd fallen into. Around the edges, their parents watched with indulgent smiles, buy'ce lined up neatly on the benches near them. The two of them kept watching, sunk in a calm companionship.

It wasn't how Jango expected their date to go. But he wasn't complaining. It was nice. "So, I've been wondering," Jango said after a while.

"Wondering about what?"

"Do jetii have kids? Biological ones, I mean."

"Yes, it happens."

"Really?"

"Mm. Yes, it's not often planned but it happens. Mistakes are made, birth control fails, something they encounter interferes. Life, the Force, finds a way when it wants to."

"What do they do? They don't raise them."

"Ah," Obi-Wan said, folding his hands in his lap. "I see what you're getting at. A knight or a master who has a child has a few options. They can ask to be released from their vows and join one of the corps, taking and raising their child. The corps members don't make the same vows as the knight sect. Or, they can honor their vows, and offer the child up to the creche, assuming they're Force-sensitive."

"If they go to the creche. . ."

"They're raised the same as any other foundling, yes. Once they reach adulthood they're given the choice to know who their Jedi parent is, it's entirely up to them."

Jango shook his head, unable to imagine giving up a child of his to be raised by someone else.

"You must understand," Obi-Wan said. "Being raised in the creche is no hardship. I was raised there, made bonds with my crechemates that are still with me today. I wouldn't give up the experience for anything."

Jango just shook his head again. He went back to looking at Obi-Wan, who knocked his knee against Jango's. "I'm serious," Obi-Wan said. "I am. Force-sensitive children are different from others. Growing up with others like us, learning the limits and ethics of the Force, it's easier in a communal situation like the creche. There's a reason we raise our younglings that way."

"And if the other parent isn't a Jedi? Do they get a say?"

"Yes, of course. It's even rarer than a Jedi having a child though, Jedi as a rule, tend to connect with others in the Order. As any culture tends towards intermarrying over marrying outsiders. That's the other option, the only way a knight or master may be involved in raising their child without breaking their vows."

"What's that?"

"The non-Jedi parent takes primary custody," Obi-wan murmured. "The Jedi parent could still visit, know them, love them. But our lifestyle isn't conducive to raising a young child. Force, I haven't been back to the temple for more than a day or two at a time in over a year."

"You don't seem interested in looking within your Order for a partner."

Obi-Wan was stretched out, his long legs extended. He looked to be studying the scuff marks on the toes of his boots. His face had a neutral, closed-off look to it, one Jango hadn't seen since the other night when he accused the Jedi of stealing children. Somehow, he didn't think it was because he was losing his temper this time. It was something else. "I've always been an outlier among my peers," he said, finally.

"Well, I'm certainly not complaining. And I certainly don't mind the hints that raising warriors together isn't completely outside the realm of possibility. Also, I thought of something else," he said, and this time he knocked his knee against Obi-Wan's. "You know Dooku takes about half of his downtime between missions here, with Jaster. There's no reason you couldn't do the same. Kriff, depending on where your missions are, Manda'yaim may be a shorter journey. And a more pleasant destination for leave.”

Obi-Wan's laugh took him by surprise. Jango laughed too, because the sound was infectious.

"I think I'd like that," Obi-Wan said, once they settled down.

Jango hummed. They lapsed back into silence long enough to watch some of the parents begin to wade into the children and fish out their child. Everyone was taking note of the setting sun, and Jango knew it wouldn't be long before they all ventured inside to find dinner. Obi-Wan watched them contemplatively, that closed-off look gone. Jango, on the other hand, was watching Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eyes. Obi-Wan looked relaxed, like he had the other night as they propped each other up at the bar and drank more than was responsible.

In unspoken accord, they made their way inside slowly and in silence, waving back to ade who waved at them, but hanging back to avoid the throng of excited children being herded to personal quarters and the great hall. Obi-Wan had shrugged back into his jacket, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets for lack of having big enough sleeves to hide them in.

Jango set a hand on the small of his back and steered him towards the royal wing of the compound, towards an area he knew would be quieter. Less populated. They walked together, still in comfortable silence. There was something freeing in spending time with someone who didn't feel the need to fill a silence. Obi-Wan could, and certainly had, but he was just as comfortable with quiet.

"So listen," he said, drawing them to a stop in the middle of an empty hallway.

"Mm?"

"Listen," he repeated, moving away to pace a few feet forward, then back. Obi-Wan was quiet. Jango clenched his hands into fists. Obi-Wan just leaned back against the wall, as still and as patient as a statue.

"So," Jango said. "I had a really good time with you. Today, and the other night."

"No need to sound so surprised."

"Well, to be honest. . . I am, a little."

"I see."

Jango paced some more, thinking. He'd planned to keep this date simple, to take Myles' advice and show Obi-Wan a different side of himself. He'd planned to try to ease them forward into something he hadn't dared to hope was an option. And now he knew it was, with caveats Obi-Wan had only hinted at. But Jango could read between the lines. No attachment, whatever that meant. Him as primary parent for any foundling, as Obi-Wan would be for any padawan. Long periods apart due to missions. Duty to a higher cause first, for both of them.

None of it excluded what Jango wanted, what he thought they could have with a little time and work.

"The thing is," Jango said. "I want to do something I told myself I wouldn't, not yet."

The eyes that had seemed distant before were sharply focused on him now. Nothing else in Obi-Wan changed or shifted. "And that is, what," he said.

"Yeah," Jango said, not acknowledging Obi-Wan's words. "I'm definitely going to."

"Jango," Obi-Wan said, and it wasn't a voice he'd heard from Obi-Wan before. It was infinitely tender. And also something of a plea, not to tease.

"Yeah, I'm going to," he said and he moved towards Obi-Wan. He stepped in close and brushed his mouth against the side of Obi-Wan's face. Just a short brush, he didn't linger, just wanted to test the waters. And Obi-Wan, he wasn't turning his face away or shoving Jango back—in fact, he was turning just the _slightest bit_ towards Jango.

So Jango took a breath, sent a silent prayer to the Mand'alors watching over him, and let his lips move to press against Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan kissed back, and everything Jango knew about the galaxy and his place in it, shifted.

Kissing in a hallway, where anyone could stumble on them was strange. Was something he'd never done before. Jango didn't have much privacy as the Manda'lor's ad, so he normally took pains to do this kind of thing behind closed doors. It was surreal, but he couldn't stop.

Let someone find them, let them look, for all Jango cared.

Kissing a jetii, now that was a whole different level of surreal.

But kissing Obi-Wan? That didn't feel strange or surreal at all. It was intensely intimate and familiar—similar to their spar, where it had felt like they'd been fighting together their whole lives instead of it being the first time—and yet unfamiliar in the sense that he was kissing someone with no intent to do anything else, which he'd never done before. This kissing wasn't the prelude to something he wanted to get to more. This, this was kissing for the sake of it. Obi-Wan was warm where they were pressed together, and his chest was hammering, there was a hand at his waist and one resting on the back of his neck. Just resting there.

When he broke off to gasp, it wasn't for air, though he did need that. It was to mirror Obi-Wan and lay a hand on the back of his neck. Without prompting Obi-Wan leaned his head forward to meet Jango for a different kind of kiss.

Obi-Wan nudged their faces closer, noses brushing, and Jango nudged back.

And then they were pressing their mouths together again, and this time there was an intent to it that had been banked and leashed before. He had his hands around Obi-Wan's waist, tucked inside his jacket, and their hips were rubbing up against each other. "Fuck," Jango breathed, and Obi-Wan made a small noise in the back of his throat that he took to be an agreement. Jango slid his hand up to cradle Obi-Wan's jaw. He rubbed a thumb over the bristles of the beard there. He nipped at Obi-Wan's bottom lip, testing to see—

He had always known Obi-Wan could move faster than he could, despite their similar heights. Jango had more muscle, and that meant he had an advantage in strength but was outmatched in speed. His back hit the wall before he registered that Obi-Wan had reversed their position, and Obi-Wan pressed against him, pinning him there. Jango showed his appreciation with a hard kiss, digging his fingers into Obi-Wan's shoulders. He pressed back just as hard, their kissing more biting than kissing now. The gentleness from before dissolved in the face of their passion.

"Come back to my room," Jango managed to say, struggling for breath. "Can we just, please, let's just go back to my room."

"Yes, that, that's a good plan," Obi-Wan was saying, low and into his neck. "We should get out of the open. But that can wait, Force, come here, come back."

They were back to kissing again, all but clawing at each other—Jango thought he might have started that, started being rough, that maybe he should try to reign it back in. But Obi-Wan was matching him in ferocity. Obi-Wan still had him pinned against the wall, and he thought a touch of the jetii magic was helping keep him there but Jango, frankly, didn't care. Their mouths were gentle again but the rest of them less so. They were going to have fingerprint bruises all over, at this rate.

"Wait," Obi-Wan gasped. Jango instantly stopped kissing him, let his hands fall away, and didn't reach out when Obi-Wan backed up a step and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry," Jango said, his throat dry. "What did I—"

"No, I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said. "I just, I can't do it like that."

"Like what, cyar'ika?"

"Just, I shouldn't have held you to the wall, like that." He said, and his eyes were fixed on a point just over Jango's shoulder. "I lost control."

Jango shrugged, "I liked it."

Obi-Wan hadn't moved, and Jango realized he wasn't going to. He wasn't going to initiate anything else, maybe didn't trust himself not to lose control again. "Cyar'ika," Jango said, "I trust you."

Obi-Wan was still silent, and he looked unconvinced. Jango swallowed. Terrified of it ending like this. "Please, just come back over here. Kiss me again."

Obi-Wan made a small noise, one Jango was beginning to recognize and crave to hear again. And then, his arms were back around Jango, looser this time. And he'd tugged Jango away from the wall, so neither of them was pressed against it, or even leaning against it.

Their kisses were less rough now, more like they had been when they first started kissing what felt like eons ago now. He gripped Obi-Wan's waist and pulled him closer so they were farther from the wall, hips notched together, and that was satisfying in more than one way.

"Let's go back to my room," he whispered.

"Yes," Obi-Wan whispered back.

"We have to separate for that, probably."

Obi-Wan made an incoherent noise and kissed his jaw, down his neck.

"Cyar'ika."

Obi-Wan's mouth lifted. "Yes, my dear?"

"Bedroom, then, more of this."

"As you say," Obi-Wan murmured. And somehow, Jango maneuvered them towards his bedroom. It was a minor miracle they didn't run into anyone. While only he and Jaster were living in this wing, it wasn't unheard of for there to be a handful of commandos around at any given time. Dooku too, was known for dropping in for what he and Jaster both refused to call a gossip session. They made it as far as his quarters, but not as far as his bedroom. The sofa was closer, and toppling Obi-Wan onto it was admittedly fun for Jango.

Obi-Wan didn't take it lying down, not that Jango had expected him to. He tugged Jango down on top of him, hard, and then they were going at it again. Obi-Wan barely missed a beat, kissing him senseless.

He didn't stop until Jango did until he lifted his head away.

"This isn't just a one-time thing," he said quietly.

"No," Obi-Wan said. "It's not."

"That okay with you?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, and looked like he had something to say, but didn't know how. "You understand," he murmured finally, "that I can't put you first. I've sworn oaths to my Order and the Republic."

"I do understand," Jango said. "I can't put you first either, much as I'd like to. I have Jaster and my people to think of."

"Then yes, my dear. This is all kinds of okay."

Jango didn't have the energy for any more emotions or heart-to-heart's so he leaned down and pressed his mouth back to Obi-Wan's and concentrated on kissing him as thoroughly as he was meant to be kissed. They could talk more tomorrow, if Obi-Wan wanted.

* * *

Obi-Wan woke with a gasp. He knew he'd had a vision, but already, his recollection of it was slipping away. Growing obscured in his mind. As if a thick layer of fog had rolled in and hidden it from him. It would come to him again, or it wouldn't, but there was nothing he could do at the moment to draw it back to him. Except, the Force forever liked to surprise him. He was drifting back off, and he could feel the vision rising up to take him under again, could feel the barely remembered horror hollowing out his chest. The temple was burning, and his lungs were filled with smoke. And there was a bone-deep certainty settling into him, that he was the last one left, the last Jedi breathing.

 _Force, no,_ he forced himself awake with a jolt, and began the process of untangling himself and crawling to the edge of the bed so that he could sit there and try not to lose the content of his stomach. But there was an obstruction between him and the edge of the bed. A form that no matter how they fell asleep, invariably ended up between him and the edge of the bed. And the door, the first was really more of a coincidence of the second.

"Why are you awake," Jango growled, low and gravelly, when Obi-Wan tried to climb over him.

"Vision. I just, I need some space. Jango, my dear, could you possibly budge over a tad."

"No. Sleeping," came the growl. Obi-Wan sighed.

He'd been in Jango's bed every night for a week now, but it had only taken the once to know Jango was just about the furthest one could get from a morning person.

"Sith take you, just shift up a bit, I need to get to where I'm not trapped in a corner." When Jango stayed quiet, his breathing edging back towards deep and even and sleeping, Obi-Wan sighed again. With a judicious use of the Force he levitated himself over Jango's form, settling himself down so he was sitting with his back to him. He ran his hands over his face, through his hair, and concentrated on breathing in and out. He concentrated on the bonds deep in his mind, the strand of pure mischief that was Quinlan, the reserved warmth of Dooku, the grounded serenity that was fainter than the others but unmistakably Qui-Gon. Beneath all of those, were two fainter strands, one to Anakin, half a galaxy away.

The other, to the man sleeping behind him.

He focused on them, on the way they pulsed with life and light. They were alive. The temple was whole and not burning. He was not the last Jedi alive.

His comm beeped insistently and he called it to him with an absent gesture.

"Hello there," he said quietly, after answering the voice call.

"Grandpadawan? Are you alright? I felt something down our bond and—did you have a vision? You must have. I think I got echoes of it. Knight Vos is awake and rather unsettled as well. Qui-Gon too, though he got the least of it from what we can tell. They about beat down the door, thinking you were—"

"Grandmaster. I did have a vision, I apologize for disturbing you all."

A heavy sigh came through the call. "Don't apologize. Are you alright? It seemed, well. Disturbing."

Obi-Wan gave a rueful laugh. "Grandmaster. All my visions are."

Dooku was silent.

"I can. . . I can come over. Give you all as much context as I have, help you put it from your minds."

"Not tonight. That can wait till morning."

Behind him, there was a shift. He felt Jango scooting closer to him. A heavy arm curled around his waist and pulled him back, and there was a warm mouth pressed to his shoulder, trailing up his neck. Obi-Wan smiled, what was left of the vision fading away.

Not into fog this time, he could recall it if he wished, but distant from him. For now.

"Obi-Wan?" Dooku was saying.

"I'm fine. I'll be there for breakfast, we can talk then."

"Alright, goodnight grandpadawan."

"Goodnight." Obi-Wan ended the call, and tossed it on the bedside table. He rolled over and into the arms waiting on him.

"Sorry," he whispered. "But I knew he wouldn't relax until he spoke to me."

"Mmm," Jango rumbled, and Obi-Wan huffed a laugh into his neck. Jango was half-awake, at most. He was pulling Obi-Wan in tight and close, and doing it all while drifting back into a deep sleep. It was tempting to tell someone about this, to tell Quinlan or Jaster even, that Jango Fett was a snuggler. None of them would believe him.

Obi-Wan tucked his face further into Jango's neck and exhaled, the tension in his muscles seeping away.

"Bad vision?" Jango whispered into his hair. More awake than he'd concluded then.

"Not the worst I've had."

"Time-sensitive?"

"Don't think so. I'll go over it with Dooku and the other two tomorrow. Talk to the council. They'll have. . . thoughts on it."

"Thoughts like telling you to put it from your mind and focus on the present."

Obi-Wan laughed, and the arms tightened around him. It should have made him feel restrained and trapped. He felt safe, instead. "You do listen when I ramble about visions and the council's stance on them."

"Sometimes. Keep your expectations nice and low."

Jango shifted onto his back, maneuvering Obi-Wan so he was lying half across his chest. Obi-Wan found his neck again, breathing in the sweet scent there, pressed himself against the firm length of Jango's body.

And they rested there, in the silence and dark of Jango's bed. There were half-empty bowls from last night, from the tiinglar Jango had made, because they'd gotten distracted halfway through their meal. It was a better dinner date than their first, as far as Obi-Wan was concerned. He'd memorized the sight of Jango sitting cross-legged on his bed, stripped down to just his trousers and socks, and moaning as he ate. It said a lot, that they'd managed to get distracted from food as delicious as last night’s.

Obi-Wan was looking forward to seeing how it tasted leftover. He had a feeling it would be like other spicy dishes he'd tried in the past, it would only get spicier with time.

"You should know," Obi-Wan said and sighed. "That the council will want to discuss more than my mission."

"You mean us," Jango whispered, and Obi-Wan nodded, and they lay there. Both slipping back into quiet and sleep. Or, really, just Jango was. He didn't seem to be worried at the prospect, but Obi-Wan's mind was racing. He hadn't lied when he said Jedi were allowed relationships, both within and without the order. But there would be additional hoops for him to jump through, he'd be monitored closely until he proved he could let go, when needed. Until he proved he could put the mission, other's lives, over that of Jango's.

It would be a level of scrutiny he hadn't faced since his return to the order after leaving as a teenager, but he was determined to see it through. To prove that he could handle this. Now that he'd had a taste of having Jango, he wasn't ready to let him go, not entirely. He'd do his duty, if it came to that. He prayed to the Force it would not. And surely he was allowed to savor what he could, for as long as he could, if it did. He didn't realize he was digging his fingers into Jango's shoulder, probably to the point of it being painful, until Jango shifted.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Don't be. Come here, cyar'ika." They were kissing now, quietly, without the franticness that had characterized their encounter last night. If he had thought Jango's kisses were sweet when they were both desperate for it, kisses in the quiet dark like this would have disabused him of that notion. He'd had a week to be spoiled by this, by middle of the night kissing, and warm hands, and tender words between them. Obi-Wan leaned over Jango, elbows resting on either side of his head, and leaned down to press their mouths together, to brush noses, and nudge their foreheads together in a tender kov'nyn.

They stayed like that for a while, trading slow and lazy kisses. Eventually, though, Obi-Wan curled back into Jango's side and Jango was first to drift back to sleep.

Obi-Wan burrowed into his arms and fell into a dreamless sleep, anchored in the dark and in the present.

* * *

It was a long walk back to the royal wing of the palace compound, and Obi-Wan dragged his feet the entire way. He kept his head down. He barely saw his surroundings as his feet followed the familiar path.

“Everything all right?” Jango was in his sitting room, when Obi-Wan finally gathered his courage and entered his personal quarters.

"Not exactly," Obi-Wan said, and Jango set down the blaster he'd been in the process of cleaning.

Jango stayed quiet, and just waited. "I spoke with the council," Obi-Wan said. He kept his gaze fixed above Jango's head. It was easier that way. "They had a mission for me. I'm due to leave in the next few hours."

"Alright," Jango said. "I can give you a lift to the space station."

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. The vice around it was unrelenting and tight. "Jango, this mission. . . it's a complicated negotiation," he said. "It could be months. More. A year, maybe. I was requested by name. . . It's. . ."

He forced himself to lower his gaze and meet Jango's. He owed him that much. "It'll be longer than any mission I've taken before. Longer than I planned to take while we. . . figure things out."

"What does that mean," Jango said quietly.

"It means," he said. "It means we haven't had nearly the amount of time I thought we'd have to build a. . . a more solid foundation before we were separated. . ."

He turned his head away, and looked out the window at the forest Jango's quarters were backed up to. His hands gripped his elbows within the shelter of his robe sleeves, to the point he expected to find bruises later.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I am so sorry. I thought we'd have more time. Which, in hindsight was rather foolish of me. Our mission here technically ended with the treaty signing, I've had longer between missions than I usually do."

He listened to the sound of Jango putting away his cleaning tools, setting them aside and out of the way. Small domestic sounds he hadn't had long enough to begin to get used to and cherish. Jango hadn't said anything, but what was he supposed to say? What did Obi-Wan want him to say? _I don't care that we didn't have all that long together, I'll wait however long it takes until we have another chance._

No. That wasn't possible. They'd had a chance, this had been it. And it was over far too soon. And he would leave for this mission, and Jango would miss him for a bit, maybe, and then he'd move on. Find someone more available who could devote themselves to raising the ade Jango wanted so badly.

Except, that thought was excruciating, was like someone had sunk a vibroblade in his gut and twisted.

"Force take it," he murmured, pain and anger overwhelming his ability to release it into the Force.

"Stop panicking. So we pick up where we left off in a few months, it's fine," Jango said. He was sprawling back on the couch, his eyes watching Obi-Wan.

"I can't ask you to do that," Obi-Wan said. "I have no right."

"Sure you do. You're overthinking it. So you're away for a few months, that doesn't mean this—" he made a gesture between them, "—is over, not unless we want it to be. And you know, there's an easy way to give you the right to ask that of me."

"Okay," Obi-Wan said warily, "I'll bite. How would we do that."

"By getting married," Jango said, and Obi-Wan was close to sputtering out a laugh, until he realized Jango was watching him with intent eyes and a matter-of-fact expression.

He wasn't kidding.

"Wait," Obi-Wan said. "Wait, did you, I mean. Are you. . . asking me to marry you?"

"We are one when together," Jango said. "We are one when parted. If we get married, you'll have every right to ask me to wait until your mission is over. Till the next time, you have downtime. And I'll do so happily."

"You're serious."

"Yes," Jango said. He was frowning now, as though he was thinking through and planning what to say next. "We could just press pause for the next few months. For a year. We could do that, I would agree to that without any marriage vows. And maybe later we'll agree to get married anyways, years and years from now. But, can you tell me honestly that you'll know something about me, about us, then, that you don't know now? Can you imagine anything that would change your mind about us?"

The truth was, that Obi-Wan couldn't. There were things he didn't know about Jango, and vice versa. But it was just details, none of it would change how he felt.

"Jaster and Dooku will be entirely too smug," he said finally, and if Jango heard the agreement in his voice, the clue to his impending victory, he only showed it in the smallest quirk at the corner of his mouth.

"We don't have to tell them," he said.

"They'll still know. It's Jaster and Master Dooku. Your marriage ceremony is much easier than my peoples."

"Mm. Yes, just a few vows."

"Jango. There are. . . still things about me you don't know. Things that might make you think twice about tying yourself to me."

"Nah," Jango said. "There is context I may not know, stories you haven't told me yet. We have all the time in the galaxy to learn those. But those are just. . . threads in a tapestry I already see the larger picture of. I know you, cyar'ika, and you know me."

It was an echo of what he'd been thinking seconds before, and it settled something inside him.

"This is insane, you know that right. A week ago you would have hit me rather than speak two kind words to me."

"Maybe so. Obi-wan. Are you reminding me of that as a way to ease into saying no?" Jango wasn't sprawling on the couch anymore, and it occurred to Obi-Wan that Jango wasn't nearly as nonchalant as he was pretending to be. His hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles white. His eyes steady and locked on Obi-Wan.

"That, no, that's not me saying no. That's—I mean, what I'm trying to say is yes. Yes, of course, I'll marry you."

Jango's eyes widened, and his long slow smile made Obi-Wan's chest go tight and warm. "So eloquent."

"Yes, well," Obi-Wan said. "This is not exactly the conversation I'd expected to be having."

He smirked at Jango, who at some point in the last few moments had stood and moved closer. They stayed like that, looking at each other, and he was no longer worried about what would come next. The only things that had his attention were things in Jango's eyes, the intentness there, the tenderness. Jango's eyes said _I don't want you to leave,_ and _I want to marry you,_ and most of all they said, _I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, and you will find your way back to me._

"When do you want to do this?"

Jango reached out and caught his hands, bringing them up to brush his mouth against each set of knuckles. "Now's as good a time as any."

Obi-Wan closed the distance between them, pressing his mouth to Jango's gently.

"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome," Obi-Wan murmured, and by the second word he was joined by Jango, the two of them speaking in hushed, reverent voices. "Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde."

He tilted their foreheads together, and just, rested there. After a few minutes, arms looped around his waist, and Obi-Wan was leaning against Jango's chest, tucked under his chin. And they stayed like that, just breathing together.

"I'm going to be forced into so much meditation," he said, and Jango's rumbling laugh made him smile. "You'll wait? And comm me as often as possible?"

"Yes, to both. Anything you want, cyar'ika," Jango said. Warm lips brushed his brow, kissed into his hairline. Obi-Wan settled against him, the Force swirling around them and filled with peace and the distinct feeling of a puzzle piece slotting into place.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts! :)
> 
> This is out a bit later than I wanted, because I got sidetracked writing the first chapter of its sequel. So bad news, the fix-it stuff doesn't really happen until part 2 (the dominoes start in this fic tho), but good news, I'm actively writing it? I'm changing this to be a part of a series, so if you're interested in part 2, consider subscribing to the series so you won't miss updates! 
> 
> Translations/phrases:
> 
> Mand'alor - Mand'alor - sole ruler/leader of Mandalore  
> Beskar'gam - armor; Literally: "iron skin"  
> Kriffing - a derogatory modifier based on the word kriff. Similar to 'fucking'  
> Jetii - Jedi  
> jetiise - plural for jedi  
> ad - child  
> ade - children  
> buy'ce - bucket, helmet  
> buir - parent  
> buire - parents  
> Manda'yaim - the planet Mandalore  
> aliit - family, clan, tribe  
> cyar'ika - darling, beloved, sweetheart  
> Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde - "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors."—Mandalorian marriage vows


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